451
by DevvieBunny
Summary: This is a story based around a group of Liberated Borg set in the Star Trek: Online Universe. Assumes that the reader has little or no knowledge of Star Trek. e-Book versions of the book can be found at the wearefourfiftyone Wordpress site.
1. Chapter 1: Awakening

451

Devorah Quinn

_Prologue_

The light was blinding; white enough to be death. There was no diagnostic in her vision. No instructions. No words. Just this lonely, vicious searing white flame.

She was blind and voiceless. Gripped by a tightening in her chest a simple single command in a familiar tone came to her.

"Return."

Reality came into focus, bringing with it the realization that she was lying flat on her back. Her limbs felt heavy, like they had been weighted.

She tried to move her arm, but it did not respond. With great effort she managed to right herself with her working one, coming up to a sitting position in one robotic move.

From this vantage point she could see poorly around the room, her vision being what it was. A blur moved far on the other side. Its blueish-gray form gesturing to another. It spoke as if she were not here.

"...what I can tell, four of them are genetically related and what's even weirder is that I don't think they were from conquered species."

The second form began to respond before they were interrupted.

"They were born into the-"

"Doctor."

A third form had appeared and was close enough for her to make out its hand movements. Squinting through her one working eye, she could see it was pointing directly at her.

"She's awake."

The blue one, apparently designated 'Doctor', moved briskly towards her grabbing something off of a shelf. As he closed the distance he became clearer. He was a human male of about medium build with short dark hair and a dark complexion.

Under nominal conditions he would be considered no threat and dispatched if he impeded her return. However, this was not optimal conditions and she couldn't run a diagnostic to determine the extent of the damage. The best that could be hoped for was an interrogation.

"What is being done to this one?"

Doctor pressed firmly against one of her shoulders. She didn't have the strength to resist, lowering herself back down under the pressure.

"We're trying to get you and your friends back together, but all of you insist on waking up during the procedures."

'Back together?' Confusion overtook her. Without the voices, there was no hope of understanding such convoluted speech. She tried again.

"Back together. Clarify."

"Well," Doctor started while pulling something out of his side pocket and locking it into the device he picked up earlier, "you've got a lot of technology in you that isn't the best for your health, or ours for that matter. So, we're doing a couple procedures to remove said technology."

She was thoroughly lost now. However, one thing she was sure of was that all the technology she had, she needed. And removal of any of it would decrease her efficiency.

"This unit requires the technology, it must not be removed."

Doctor smiled and nodded.

"Well, I'm sure you feel that way now, but I'm pretty sure you'll think differently about it later. Besides, can't remove all of it. That Imager on the side of your head isn't going anywhere, at least not anytime soon."

He placed the device against her neck and pressed the trigger. It made a high-pitched sound similar to gas escaping.

"Don't worry, rest now. We'll have you up and around in no time."

Almost instantly, she listed away into the darkness.

_a·wak·en·ing – verb _

_1. the act of awaking from sleep. _

_2. a recognition, realization, or coming into awareness of something that one was not aware of previously_

_-1- _

_Awakening _

When she awoke again her vision had cleared. The light above her was gone and there was definition to the ceiling. Her Hologram Imaging System had apparently returned to a functioning status, as it had begun to build and record models of the immediate area.

Rising slowly, albeit with more strength than before, she was able to get a clear view of her new surroundings. Since her Imager had been disabled prior she did not have a schematic of the room she was in previously. This place appeared to be different. It was darker, more humid, and decidedly repopulated.

There were two drones in either corner. Her Imager identified them immediately. The two to the right of her were 312 of 933 and 220 of 933. To her left were 245 of 933 and 910 of 933. She attempted to connect to the one closest to her, 220 of 933, but there was no response. She concluded that her internal transmitter had been damaged, or more likely, disabled. In either case, she was going to have to try a more primitive form of communication.

She opened her mouth to speak just as the door hissed opened. In walked Doctor, and two men in red shirts with large rifles in hand. She attempted to identify the weapons, but her Imager had been wiped clean, save for a few choice schematics and a short list of currently active drones.

She stood to address them.

Doctor jumped forward slightly and held out his hands as if trying to catch a falling child. He tried to get out a warning, but it was too late.

"N-n-"

Her left foot crumpled almost immediately upon hitting the floor. Fortunately, she was able to make a quick brace against a bed. With her other leg, the assistance of the frame and a very well placed human she was able to regain her footing. The position was precarious, as she was relying on the bed to maintain anything resembling a standing position.

She felt a burning in her head as she had several premonitions of injuring Doctor for crippling this unit. In her current condition she could only angrily reiterate the current state of affairs.

"You have damaged this one."

Doctor smiled and waved away the comment.

"We had to remove several pieces of equipment from your left leg. You still have a servo motor in there, and luckily they left some muscle behind. It's badly atrophied, though it'll come back eventually."

"At what time will this one be returned to its previous condition?"

"Well," Doctor maintained his smile, "I don't see that ever happening. You should regain your full mobility within a week or so. This however..."

He pointed to the Imaging System that made up the majority of the left side of her head.

"...is going to have to stay. There's just no two ways about that. Your hair should come back in, or in for the first time I might say, and you should regain control of most of the hardware we had to leave behind. Of course there's the re-acclimation process that you'll have to go through on the ship, seeing as how far we're out here."

He paused abruptly as though self-aware that he was talking to a blank stare. Picking up a device from the table he began to move it over her Imager. His smile had faded, replaced by a thoughtful look as he quickly shifted his gaze from her to his equipment.

"So, what's your name?"

"This one is designated as Four Fifty-one of Nine Thirty-three. Assigned to Tactical Cube 769392..."

Doctor cut her off.

"Always with the numbers! How about we just go with the first set? Four Fifty-one? Seems to be the standard way of handling things. At least until you decide on a proper name."

She stopped for a moment to think and then nodded involuntarily.

"Your proposal is acceptable. You may refer to this one as Four Fifty-one."

Doctor's smile returned.

"And you can refer to me as Ti or Dr. Ti if you're feeling exceptionally formal, Four Fifty-one."

Four Fifty-one nodded again.

"Your designation is Ti."

The doctor let out a short laugh.

"Close enough."

Ti was not with Four Fifty-one much longer, and was quiet the remaining time, only saying goodbye before leaving with the armed men. The other drones silently wandered around, confused, as though they were given instructions to sit in the corner of a round room.

After the door shut, Four Fifty-one weakly set off for it with the intention of seeing if it could be opened. Halfway there she was stopped by a voice behind her.

"The door is sealed."

Four Fifty-one turned around to find that she had been approached by one of the drones. Her Imager gave this one's designation as 312 of 933.

"It is guarded outside. Forced departure would be inadvisable."

Four Fifty-one turned her head towards the door again. It struck her as odd that she hadn't considered escape. She hadn't even entertained the idea that she was being held captive. The locked door argued otherwise.

Four Fifty-one turned back towards 312 of 933.

"Your designation is 312 of 933. Assigned to Tactical Cube 769392223. Verify."

"Verified. However, the ones on this ship refer to me as Three-Twelve. Also, I have reason to suspect that Tactical Cube 769392223 has been destroyed."

Four Fifty-one hadn't thought of this either.

"Clarify."

"We are still aboard and we have been removed from the Collective. Our last instructions were to assimilate the ship. The ship is not assimilated, nor is it being pursued."

Four Fifty-one agreed. It was most likely that the Cube had been destroyed and that they were prisoners here. She needed more information if they were going to rejoin the Collective.

"What information have you gathered?"

"This room has been modified to allow regeneration by attaching to the wall."

Three-Twelve gestured to the metallic discs about elbow-high sticking out at various locations. She then pointed to the single brightly-lit panel.

"This device is a replicator for producing edible organic matter. We have found no use for it. The other consoles are deactivated."

Four Fifty-one took a moment to asses the information before inquiring further.

"And those on this vessel?"

"We have only communicated with the doctor, Ti, and the one designated Captain Bellows. If history is a precedent he will soon come to speak with Four Fifty-one as he has done with the others."

Another voice interjected, "We must return to the Collective."

Three-Twelve and Four Fifty-one had been joined by a third drone, this one registered as 220 of 933. Three-Twelve spoke first.

"This unit is Two-Twenty. Verify."

He looked shiftily around the room before he responded.

"Verified. This one is 220 of 933. Assigned to Tactical Cube 769392223. The designation of Two-Twenty is also appropriate."

Three-Twelve responded.

"We are unable to return currently. We must wait for a more apt time."

Four Fifty-one readjusted her weight on the console she was leaning on, noticing that the two other drones were moving towards their position. Before she could initiate any kind of communication the door hissed open and two red-shirted men, of two fairly different heights, entered and proceeded to her position.

"The Captain wishes to speak to you." the taller of them said as they grabbed her arm to escort her out of the room. She put much of her weight on the human and began to make her way to the exit.

As she limped out she could hear Two-Twenty's voice trailing behind her.

"...return."

"If there's one thing I've learned from you Liberated, it's that you don't like the flowery language and pleasantries, so I'm going to make this little conversation of ours short and clear."

The man leaned forward onto his desk which was apparently designed to look as dark, old and creaky as him. He waited a short while before continuing.

"Another silent one. Fine. That'll make this easy."

"She was speaking earlier," Dr. Ti interjected from his place against the wall.

The man at the desk turned back towards Four Fifty-one.

"Do you speak?"

Four Fifty-one addressed him flatly.

"This one is capable of verbal communication."

He looked visibly surprised.

"And then there were two."

Bellows collected himself briefly and continued as though reading from a script.

"I'm Captain Bellows and this is my ship: the USS Labra. Currently you are prisoners of war on it despite the doctor's arguments to the contrary. As a P.O.W., you will be treated as such. Do you understand?"

"Understood."

"The nearest L.A.F. is three months away in Federation space where you will be delivered. Until that time, you are confined to the renovated auxiliary sickbay. If you require anything you are to contact the security detail stationed at your location or Dr. Ti. Do you understand?"

Four Fifty-one was unsure of what an L.A.F. was, but the location was irrelevant.

"Understood."

"And finally, if you are perceived to be a threat to this crew or ship, we will respond with due force. There will be no tolerance on this issue. Do you understand?"

"Understood."

"Do you have any questions for me?"

She first contemplated a request for clarification on the L.A.F., however there was a more pressing issue.

"When will we be returned to the Collective?"

Bellows looked quickly at Ti who shrugged.

"I don't see that happening any time soon."

Four Fifty-one nodded.

"Understood. That is this one's only query."

The Captain pointed to the two security officers who had been standing by the door. They made their way towards Four Fifty-one, helping her out of the chair and back into the hallway.

The doctor raised a hand slightly.

"And me?"

Bellows pointed towards the door as it opened.

"Dismissed."

Ti followed security and Four Fifty-one into the hall, making sure the door had shut before gently forcing himself between her and the one she had been leaning on.

"You two go on ahead with your duties, I'll take her."

The taller one looked confused.

"Sir, Captain Bellows gave explicit instructions that none of the Bogs should be without a security detail."

The doctor used his free hand to point at the officer.

"First of all, derogatory terms will not be tolerated. Consider this your only warning. Secondly, they're sitting in one of my sickbays, so they're still my patients. Feel free to tell the Captain all about it, and I'll argue with him later."

The security officer looked at the floor.

"Of course, sir. Michaels and I will be nearby if you require assistance."

As they walked away, Ti patted her hand.

"Don't mind them. Some have a hard time separating Liberated from Borg. It's easy to fear something that looks so much like your enemy."

They started walking forward taking a right at the first corridor intersection. Four Fifty-one's Imager notified her that this was not the way to the sickbay.

"This is not the optimal return route."

Dr. Ti donned his usual smile.

"No, it's not. You've been in that room for almost a week now. I figured you could use a bit of change in surroundings, even if it is just more corridor. If anyone asks, we're doing some physical therapy for your leg."

Four Fifty-one had begun to notice that the people in the halls were stopping and staring at her as they walked by, while others were pressing themselves against the walls or quickly disappearing altogether.

"We are being well-observed."

Dr. Ti gestured in agreement.

"That we are. It wasn't too long ago that you were trying to assimilate them and this ship. There's a lot of fear surrounding you and your compatriots."

"We are crippled and disconnected from the Collective. We pose no threat to them."

Ti guided her around another corner, putting them back on path to the sickbay.

"Well, I wouldn't say no threat, but they equate you with the Borg. It lets them justify their fear. That in turn lets them feel okay about doing some pretty vicious things to you. Like, oh I don't know, locking you in a room for three months."

"The provided room is adequate for our needs."

In the distance, Four Fifty-one could see the security personnel outside the door of the sickbay. The doctor slowed down.

"Always happy with the bare minimum."

He dropped his voice to a little above a whisper.

"Even so, I'm attempting to convince Captain Bellows to give you a more spacious area. Besides, what if we have to use that sickbay? Can't very well have a bunch of former Borg drones wandering around."

Four Fifty-one agreed.

"That would be an inefficient use of space."

Ti patted her hand again.

"Let's hope the Captain feels the same way, Four Fifty-one."

As they reached the sickbay, the two security guards opened the door and stood aside.

Four Fifty-one hobbled through, turning to see Ti wave goodbye. She began to raise her hand to wave back, but stopped herself, forcing her arm back down. As the door shut, she readjusted to the humid, dim interior of the room. Through the hum of the ship, she could hear the other drones making their way towards her.

Suddenly, this did not seem adequate.

"The modified sickbay was a concession doctor. I should be keeping them in the brig. They're still prisoners of war until we can get them to an L.A.F."

Bellows had gone from understanding, to annoyed, and was slowly encroaching on red with anger.

Ti placed his drink down and folded his hands.

"Yes, but it isn't enough. From what I've been reading on the Liberated, what the former drones are exposed to in the first few weeks after removal from the Collective is more important than what happens to them in the following two years."

"Did you hear what that last one asked me? She asked me when they were going to be returned to the Collective. The _Collective_, doctor."

He paused briefly for emphasis.

"They're still drones, and they'll turn on us the second they get the chance."

Now Ti was becoming angry, but he kept a cap on it. Bellows was dooming these people and he didn't even realize it. Or maybe he did, and he didn't care.

"They're not violent, Nathan, they're just-"

Bellows interrupted

"Not violent? Maybe you're forgetting a giant Tactical Cube bearing down on our ship, or the scores of drones that marched into Engineering. What about that broken jaw a couple of days ago? Violent is a tragic understatement."

"Three-Twelve was disoriented from the drugs and in unfamiliar surroundings, she's shown no violence of any kind since that incident. In fact, every time I visit them the only emotion I can sense is boredom."

"Good. If they're bored then they're not up to anything. Just having them awake and moving around on the ship is more than the nerves of the crew and I can take. If I had the ability to put them into some kind of stasis, I would."

Dr. Ti then realized the real issue.

"You're afraid of them aren't you?"

Captain Bellows quickly stood and leaned forward on the table with his fists.

"You're damn right I'm scared."

He pointed off to his side, supposedly in the direction of the drones.

"A week ago, those drones and hundreds of their friends tried to assimilate this ship and everyone on it! We barely got out of that with our crew intact. Now, you want to give them a tennis court, free martinis and take them on a tour of the Engineering section. No. Not happening."

Ti readjusted himself in his chair nonchalantly.

"They have a replicator."

Bellows looked at him with a puzzled expression.

"What?"

"They have a food replicator. They already have free martinis."

The Captain sat back down and reclined in the chair, chuckling.

"Oh, doctor. You should have been a diplomat."

There was a brief break in the conversation before Bellows started again.

"Okay, maybe you're right. Maybe they're little lost children, as you think, or unfeeling killing machines, as everyone with a bit of sense in their head knows. So, I'll make you a deal. You can renovate one of the outer conference rooms, but only under two conditions."

He held up one finger.

"One, you must first convince the ship's counselor that this is necessary for their well being, which shouldn't be too hard."

And then the next finger.

"Two, you must convince whatever personnel you need, to assist you in their off-duty time. This includes the two extra Security guards I want present when you transport them. I'm not pulling any more officers from other tasks to make you feel better about your new pets. Are we clear?"

Dr Ti nodded as he stood, "We are."

As he made his way to the door Bellows called out after him.

"Oh, and remember: No tennis courts. I draw the line there."

Ti didn't stop, acknowledging the joke with one hand slightly waving in the air.

"No tennis courts. Got it."

The door swished shut behind him as he proceeded towards Engineering for his next tough sell.

The woman in front of Four Fifty-one, Counselor Miranda, waited for the guards to head outside before starting.

"Our group session the other day was a little one-sided. Three-Twelve and I did most of the talking, so I thought today we'd just have a quick little one-on-one. Would that be all right?"

Four Fifty-one didn't see any alternative.

"That is acceptable."

Miranda crossed her legs and looked down at the pad in her hand.

"You are 451 of 933. Assigned to Tactical Cube 769392223. Is that correct?"

"Verified."

"I noticed that your group doesn't have a Unimatrix or Adjunct designation. Don't the Borg usually organize themselves like that?"

Four fifty-one was silent for a moment, attempting to put thoughts into words, a job that had become tiresome since her disconnection.

"Tactical Cube 769392223 was a Disengaged Unit."

Miranda gave her a perplexed look.

"Disengaged Unit?"

"Yes. When an Adjunct grows too large to sustain an efficient link with all units, these units are separated until a new Adjunct can be formed to process them. 769392223 had been designated this way prior to your arrival. All units are under one temporary adjunct."

The counselor tapped her pad while she drew the next logical conclusion.

"That's why you have such a high suffix number: 933."

Four Fifty-one nodded.

"That is accurate."

"Like Three-Twelve you have no problems discussing this kind of information with a known enemy?"

"When the Borg assimilate this ship that information will be of no tactical value."

Four Fifty-one quickly added, "This one was not aware it was being interrogated."

Miranda leaned forward. She lightly tapped her on the knee.

"I'm not doing that. I was just satiating a little personal curiosity. But you're right. We're here to talk about you."

Miranda took a quick second to check her pad.

"Yesterday you told me that your first memory without being connected to the Collective was in the sickbay. Do you remember anything prior to that, in the Collective?"

Four Fifty-one couldn't remember much. There were snippets here and there: an attack, coming over to the ship. There were no full memories and she wasn't sure any of the pieces she had actually belonged to her. There was a wealth of useless technical information. She could recall the number of drones on the cube, the location of ship weapons, their type and yield, and a long meaningless set of instructions which ended with:

"Return."

The Counselor had leaned back and cocked her head slightly to one side.

"Return?"

Four Fifty-one nodded.

"The last instruction received was 'Return'. We are unsure of the meaning."

Miranda shrugged.

"Perhaps they needed you to return to the ship."

"The ship was destroyed. Without proper procedural context, the command 'Return' has no meaning."

"Do you think it was important?"

The command had stuck with her since she received it, and had become the primary focus of Two-Twenty. She looked down.

"No."

"Your sister seemed to think it was."

Four Fifty-one locked eyes with Miranda as best she could.

"Sister? Clarify."

"Did they not tell you?"

"Clarify."

Miranda put her hand over her mouth and her eyes widened.

"I'm sorry. I thought that Dr. Ti had told you already."

She stumbled around the start of a few sentences before latching onto one.

"She is... that is that... Genetically speaking, Three-Twelve and Two-Twenty and Two Forty-Five are related to you. Close enough to be siblings."

This did not seem likely, but Four Fifty-one could not come to any reason as to why the Counselor would lie to her.

"Unlikely. Five drones captured at random from a group of 933 and three of them are related. That is highly improbable."

Miranda shook her head and tapped Four Fifty-one on the knee again.

"I know. It is Dr. Ti's belief that you probably had several hundred genetic siblings on that ship."

Four Fifty-one paused momentarily.

"That is more likely."

Miranda's look softened slightly.

"How do you feel about that?"

She could not detect that she felt anything. Currently she was preoccupied with why they would create a cube almost full of genetically related drones.

"The fact that we share similarities in our genetic code is immaterial."

Miranda did not seem pleased with this answer, but as was her habit she redirected the conversation.

"Can you do something for me?"

Four Fifty-one nodded, unsure of how helpful she could be locked inside a room.

"I want you to think of some of the ramifications of Three-Twelve, Two-Twenty and Two Forty-Five being related to you. I want you to ignore any that are medical-related."

Four Fifty-one immediately struck 'Transplants' from her mental list.

"This one will attempt to comply with your request."

Miranda tapped her on the knee again before standing up to summon Security.

"Good! I'll see you in a couple of days then. Sorry this had to be so short, but I have to deliver my recommendation to the Captain."

The guards entered and helped Four Fifty-one from her seat, back out the door and down the hallway. They left her leaning against the edge of the console nearest the sickbay door, exiting as quickly as they could.

As the darkness of the room closed around her she could see Three-Twelve in the corner examining the food replicator inventory. Four Fifty-one stared at her for several moments, thinking about the Counselor's question. Though her Imager disagreed, she was certain that Three-Twelve looked different.

Jameson started to leave the conference room, but stopped short of the door, with his engineering kit in hand. He was just far enough out of its sensor range that it wouldn't open on its own. How he'd let the Doc talk him into this was now beyond his comprehension. He took in and let out a deep breath, attempting to steel himself for what would await in the dark reaches of the sickbay at the end of the hallway. He hadn't had the chance to see them, but he'd heard how horrible looking they were from others who had observed them being escorted around the ship.

The Captain had refused to let them waste any further power on replicating more regeneration nodes for the drones beyond the four he had slipped in before he was stopped. Now, it was a matter of removing one of the nodes from the room they were in and bringing it to their new "quarters".

It was a quick in and out. He could do this.

Jameson stepped out into the hall, almost with his eyes closed, and headed down the hallway to the renovated axillary sickbay. It was a straight shot with only one short turn. He waved at security as he approached, who promptly opened the door and stood aside.

The instant he stepped into the sickbay it was like hitting a wall of steam. As his eyes slowly adjusted to the dimness of the light he began to make out the silhouettes of the drones around the room. They stood eerily still, the faint blue and orange light giving them a ghostly appearance. Three were on one side, currently regenerating, one was sitting on a bed at the far side, and one was over by the other two regeneration units nearest the door. The choice was obvious.

Jameson walked to the two free nodes, bent down on one knee and opened his kit. He didn't know if it was the humidity, or that just five meters away stood a dead silent drone, but he was having a hard time holding his tool properly. He grabbed one hand with the other in an attempt to steady his decoupling of the six release levers he'd need to detach to get the unit off the wall. The faster he got this thing off, the faster he could run back to the conference room.

Something touched his arm and he jumped back dropping his decoupling tool to the floor. One of the drones was within centimeters of him, staring directly at him without a sound.

"Holy-, you scared me." he said as he picked up the device and began to work on the second release.

The drone said nothing which unnerved Jameson even more. He was now officially shaking, fighting to maintain his composure.

He was going to need to diffuse the situation or run out of the room screaming. Maybe he could get it talking. That might ease him a bit. He searched frantically in his mind for something to say.

"So, bet you could just punch through the wall and rip this thing right out if you wanted."

Jameson was sorry he'd said it the second he finished the sentence. What a stupid way to start a conversation, but it responded all the same in a flat feminine tone.

"While this unit's servos have been removed, reducing physical strength, we still retain our pollyalloy-reinforced skeletal structure. Forced removal of the device with minimal damage is probable, but not recommended."

He paused for a moment, and looked up at the drone. "It" was a "she". The top of her head was covered in black hair arranged in a grown-out buzz cut. Along the right side, there was a device with several wires running out of it to some undisclosed location on the back or possibly lower neck. Near that, over the eyebrow, was a metal-ish ribbed plate with faintly glowing red lines proceeding across it laterally. Her skin was a pale white with black veins running through it, though the baggy civilian clothes they'd given her covered up most of it save for her face.

It may have been the low light, but if you removed all the equipment from her face and grew her hair to a decent length she might be pretty attractive. Suddenly, he didn't feel quite as nervous as before. Suppose if you were going to get killed by a Borg, might as well have been a halfway appealing one.

"Polly-Alloy Reinforced Skeletal structure sounds pretty mean. How's that work?"

There was a short pause before she responded.

"Nanoprobes in the unit's bloodstream deposit a branching layer of metals over the surface of the skeleton. This increases the tensile strength of the bone, making it very resilient to repeated concussive blows."

Jameson hummed a yes and continued to work on the releases.

"So I suppose that all you drones get that so you can stand a couple hits in a fight."

"Incorrect. Few drones receive the treatment as it is a time and resource intensive process. Only those who are in tactically necessary positions and regularly participate in ground altercations are processed this way. In our current grouping only two of us have been built for this purpose."

Jameson pulled the fifth release from the wall.

"I'd love to look at the technology on you behind that. Sure it'd be interesting."

"You have permission to examine this unit if you desire."

He stopped with the sixth release half-out. If it wasn't a drone he was talking to, he'd swear that was a proposition. So as not to appear as stunned as he was, Jameson quickly resumed removing the sixth release. The node slid out and he placed a temporary cap over the hole.

He put it in his kit, closed it and stood up. She was a lot shorter than she had appeared from the ground. She couldn't have been over 1.8m tall.

"Welp, I'm done. Don't suppose you have a name."

"This unit is designated Three-Twelve."

Jameson held out his hand, but Three-Twelve did not grasp it, so he quickly put it away.

"It's been a pleasure, Three-Twelve."

Again, there was no response.

He turned and headed out the door, meeting the cooler, drier air in the hallway. His pulse had started to relax now that he had several meters between him and the drones. He was still feeling the deadness that permeated that room. He could definitely see why the Doc had taken a liking to them, though. The only one he'd seen was definitely pretty for a Borg, for whatever that was worth.

Stepping into the outer conference room he popped open his kit and prepared the node for reinstallation.

"Pretty for a Borg", Jameson chuckled to himself.

Ti stared at the image on the datapad. Sometimes, he didn't know why he kept this picture around. It tore him to pieces every time he took it out. But here he was, all the same, staring down the gun of time.

They looked just as beautiful as the day he'd last seen them. The one on the left was completely disinterested in having her photo taken, her brown eyes looking off to the side at something far more compelling than the camera. Her hair was pulled back into a pony tail, held with a tiny blue clip that strained to keep up with the girl's wild head movements.

She still smiled at the person taking the picture, though it was one of those forced half-hearted grins that only shows up in staged pictures. Not that she wouldn't be smiling anyway, just that she was being told to smile, and that made all the difference.

The light brown skin of her nose and cheeks cast a series of shadows about her face, like a harbinger. The light knew where it soon would not be treading any more, and had already begun the retreat.

The girl on the right was leaning over, trying her best to look as sweet as she could. Her smile was so big that she was having to close her eyes to maintain it. If it were anyone but a child, the strained smile would look strange, but it hung on her well, framed perfectly by her straight black hair.

She had clasped her hands in front of her, right under her chin, as though praying. Her fingers were intertwined around a small toy. For the life of him, Ti could not remember what the toy was.

A tear rolled down his cheek. Had their memory started to fade already? Was this the beginning of his slow slide towards emotional apathy?

That is why he kept this picture around. It hurt, but the pain reminded him that they were real. It pulled all the details out and forced him to acknowledge their existence. The universe had moved on, unconcerned, but he would not abandon them so easily.

Ti turned the pad off and flipped it face-down onto his desk, as if that would solve his problem.

It was too unreal, too orchestrated. Perhaps he was peering through the looking-glass of his misery and seeing nonexistent patterns. Perhaps the whole of creation had stopped for a moment to show him some concern. Perhaps neither.

They were so alike. So much alike that he wanted desperately to believe that they had been delivered specifically to him. But his ego would not allow it. The forces that run the universe could not be so cruel as to kill hundreds to bring one man redemption.

Try as he might to ignore it, here they were; alone and hated. Another two that needed a guardian more than them, he was not likely to find. He was here, and they were here. It was difficult not to see providence.

Ti slid the pad off the desk and into the drawer. When his pain had started to recede, when he felt that they were slipping from him, he would return. He would pull the image out and torture himself again. Using the fire coursing through the center of his being, he would boil the memories back to the surface, where they belonged.

Until the time when he could repent properly, this would be his burden.


	2. Chapter 2: Grotesque

451

Devorah Quinn

_When a woman comes to her glass, she does not employ her time in making herself look more advantageously what she really is, but endeavors to be as much another creature as she possibly can. _

_~ Joseph Addison_

_-2-  
Grotesque_

It felt like a parade. Between the seven or eight guards that showed up, the five Liberated and every one of the crew that came just to gawk at them, Dr. Ti felt like he should at least have a baton. Luckily, it was a short walk to the newly-renovated conference room.

Ti made his way to the front of the group, where the drones had lined up in a perfect two-two-one line with Four Fifty-one and Three-Twelve at the front. He patted Four Fifty-one on the shoulder as he passed her, the little bit of an apology he could give since he had arranged this show. She looked undaunted by the mass of eyes silently judging them, but that was to be expected. She was Borg after all.

Once he had reached the front he motioned for everyone to follow him down the hall.

The walk seemed longer than usual, making Ti want to sprint to the door. He knew he couldn't protect them from this forever. Tomorrow, the next day, and probably for the rest of their lives, people were going to be staring at them. Some would be doing so in fear, some out of plain curiosity, but they were always going to be watching.

When they arrived at the door, the doctor unlocked it and proceeded in, leaving everyone but

two security guards and the future occupants outside. When the door closed, Ti began his tour.

"As you've probably noticed, we've made it a little brighter in here. If you feel any discomfort with your ocular implants let me know and we'll bring it back down. Also, since your bodies should now be adapting to the humidity of the rest of the ship, it has been set to the standard level."

He looked around for any sign of confusion, but found none. All the drones were staring intently at him.

"Alright then, to the rest of your new quarters."

Ti headed over to the far side of the room. There were five evenly spaced regeneration nodes with flimsy-looking walls between them at an angle. They were fairly spacious considering the size of the room with a large body-length mirror on the side. A person could stand in one, unseen by the rest of the room.

"There are your rooms, as it were. We tried to make them as private as possible, though there's only so much you can do with temporary dividers. If you like them, you can thank Lieutenant Jameson. Over here..."

Ti crossed the room again at a quick pace and stood proudly by what looked to be a screen mounted in a wall with a box beside it. The panel nearest the screen was one of the few in the room that looked to be in working order.

"...we have a box you can watch vids on. The Captain doesn't want you using up any time on our only holodeck, so this is the next best thing. There's a few thousand vids on it. I've selected some of my favorites as well as a random selection of those in the ship's memory."

The doctor made one final gesture to the large window that took up one side of the room. Stars streaked past from one side to the other against a dark black background.

"And this of course is a room with a view."

He walked back to the group.

"A lot better I'd say."

Four Fifty-one nodded.

"It is an improvement."

Dr. Ti smiled.

"Oh, what did I do to deserve such high praise?"

Looking around he saw that only one of the security guards was smirking.

"Ah, well, I suppose we should let you get settled."

With that, the doctor motioned to the guards who followed him out into the hall.

Before the door had finished closing, Four Fifty-one headed to the window. From what she could see of the ship and the direction of the stars, they were about halfway down the hull on the starboard side. From here she could not make out the exact size of the ship, but her Imager confirmed that it was not a large one, especially by Borg standards.

She turned back around to find that Nine-Ten had begun to regenerate, while Two-Twenty was examining himself in the mirror by tapping it. Three-Twelve had already taken to the vids and was scrolling through the list while Two Forty-Five watched.

Four Fifty-one turned back to the large window, positioning herself so that all she could see was the black and white of space. To the right were the few stars they had passed, and to the left, all the stars they had yet to see.

A great improvement.

Ti entered the Ready Room, which was already occupied by the Captain and Miranda, taking his usual place against the wall. Miranda was mid sentence.

"...to get some kind of social interaction for them."

Miranda turned in her chair to greet Dr. Ti.

"Which I think Ti would agree with, as well."

The Doctor adjusted his weight more comfortably against the wall.

"Whatever the Counselor said, I agree with it."

Bellows grimaced and leaned forward on his desk.

"I think it's abundantly clear by now that I don't like this. At all. I don't like that they're on my ship. I don't like that they're making my crew jumpy, and I don't like the fact that my Doctor and Counselor are constantly defending them."

He stopped for a second to put together his next thought.

"Regardless of my obvious prejudices, they are sentient life-forms. Though we could argue about how much they resemble us, they are as much Human as they are Borg. So, with as open a mind as I can possibly give you, why are we back in here discussing this _again_."

Miranda looked back at Ti, who motioned for her to go first. She started scrolling down the pad in her lap.

"There are the males, Two-Twenty and Two Forty-Five. Both are capable of speech, though neither has talked to anyone, that we've seen. I spent most of an hour trying to get both of them to talk, but either they don't know how, or are refusing to do so."

Miranda leaned to the other side of her chair and placed her free hand on her cheek.

"The three females, Nine-Ten, Four Fifty-one and Three-Twelve have displayed a wider array of social behaviors. While Nine-Ten has so far been as talkative as the two male drones, Four Fifty-one and Three-Twelve can hold decent, if fairly robotic, conversations. Three-Twelve did not start speaking until several days after she was disconnected while her sister, Four Fifty-one, was speaking moments after first waking up."

Ti jumped in.

"Not only was she talking, she was asking questions and making inferences."

Miranda scrolled down on her pad and continued.

"But that's not the most interesting social behavior she's shown."

Bellows folded his hands and widened his eyes a bit.

"Oh?"

She made a circular motion with her hand while shaking her head.

"She's been nodding."

The Captain rolled his eyes and leaned back in his chair.

"Oh nodding. I suppose the next step will be writing poetry."

Miranda was unperturbed.

"It's very important. That's a learned behavior. You aren't born knowing you can nod as an affirmative response. I think it's very good evidence that she's been picking up body language from others around her. Four Fifty-one might be very susceptible to social queues right now and we need to take advantage of it."

Ti walked over to Miranda's chair and leaned on it with one outstretched arm.

"This may be our only chance to start the process of integrating them into society properly. A delay of a few more days, much less a few months, could irrevocably stunt them socially. We can't keep them locked in that room, no matter how nice I've made it."

Bellows lifted his hands in front of his face while thinking. He stayed that way for several seconds before unfolding them.

"This may be the worst decision of my career, but I'm officially placing them in your care."

He shook his finger between the two of them.

"I'm going to hold you responsible for them. I want security with you at all times. At the first sign of trouble: in the brig or the morgue."

"Excellent!"

The Doctor clasped his hands together, quickly turned and headed out the door.

Bellows stared at the top of his desk, still in thought. He waited until the door had shut before continuing.

"I don't know if I like the amount of attention the doctor is paying to the drones. Especially the two females."

The Counselor turned in her chair, facing the Captain.

"I think we both know why that is. The question is whether it's healthy for him or not."

The Captain laid his hands flat on his desk, searching for answers in the wood grain.

"I can't even pretend to know what he's been through, or to understand what's going on in his head right now."

He took in a deep breath and released it slowly.

"But, I haven't seen him this energized about anything for years. Well, ever since..."

Bellows did not finish. He did not need to finish.

Miranda re-gripped the pad in her hand and shook it slowly at him.

"Right now, Ti sees himself as their protector, and as you mentioned, he is extremely pleased with that position. I would suggest that we support that. They are his patients after all."

"Yes, but how much slack should I give him? At what point do I tell him to back down? And at what cost?"

"You've known him longer than anyone on this ship, and you're the Captain. Your the most qualified person to answer those questions."

Miranda waited for a beat before continuing.

"You do give Ti a lot of slack, sir."

He shook his head in disagreement.

"I don't think so. Just enough rope to hang himself... "

Bellows sighed and looked directly at her.

"...and everyone on this ship."

Three-Twelve pressed a button on the panel moving the vid to the next episode, ending the current one prematurely. It was a two-parter, and she found it inefficient to watch the credit sequence again.

Behind her, she could hear the door open and then shut. Three-Twelve recognized the approaching footsteps. Four Fifty-one's ability to walk had improved greatly over the last couple of weeks, but she still had a slight shuffle.

"What are we watching?"

Three-Twelve did not take her eyes from the screen, instead opting to hand Four Fifty-one the case.

"'Oh Ankhald!' It is a romantic series about a Bolian who traverses the universe attempting to locate a human female by the name of Lois. Lt. Jameson advised that it was a favorite of his mother's and that this one might enjoy it."

Four Fifty-one took the case from Three-Twelve and examined it. The synopsis on the back was almost verbatim what Three-Twelve had given, excluding a small part about the 'attractive heroine'.

The majority of the front cover was taken up by a smiling human female with a blue-faced man wearing different clothes and a different expression in each of the four corners.

Four Fifty-one put the case back on top of the vid box.

"Lt. Jameson returned?"

Three-Twelve gestured towards their alcoves.

"He was recalibrating the nodes."

Four Fifty-one had begun to question his reasons for repeated appearances. The nodes were already calibrated well within acceptable ranges.

"This is the third time this week he has appeared to do maintenance work on the nodes."

Three-Twelve continued to watch the screen intently. Her conversation with Four Fifty-one was merely a distraction.

"He is very thorough. However, Miranda has suggested that Lt. Jameson is interested in this unit."

Four Fifty-one turned to look at her.

"Interested. Clarify."

"She did not specify. He did show an interest in Borg skeletal reinforcement technology. Perhaps he wishes to examine this unit for adaptation of the procedure."

Four Fifty-one decided that this was the most likely scenario. What else would a human engineer want with a Borg drone?

"Perhaps."

She turned her attention back to the vid box where the Bolian, presumably Ankhald, had Lois in his arms. She flickered a bit, apparently a hologram of some sort.

Lois looked up at him.

"Oh Ankhald, do you care for me?"

The blue Bolian looked down and smiled, running his fingers through her hair.

"Yes I do."

"Do you really?"

The Bolian's smile faded, and he looked seriously towards the camera.

"Why, of course I do, dear."

He turned back and they kissed as the scene faded out.

It quickly faded back to Ankhald walking into a room filled with people of varying races with his arms outstretched and a huge grin on his face.

"Welcome my friends! How are you all?"

Those in the room cheered for him, thrilled with his arrival.

Four Fifty-one heard the door behind her open with a swish. She turned to find that Dr. Ti had walked in grinning almost as wide as the Bolian. He looked less like a doctor now, having traded his uniform and badge for a formal, though more relaxed attire.

"Who wants to go for a little walk down to the lounge with me, huh?"

He clasped his hands together, almost clapping, and looked around the room.

Four Fifty-one stepped forward.

"This one will accompany you."

Three-Twelve powered off the screen and turned to face the doctor.

"This unit will accompany you as well."

He looked around the room for a bit, waiting for any other responses.

"No other takers? Well then, let's get going."

Ti made a 'come here' gesture as he headed back for the door; his two companions and security in tow.

When the door had shut, Two Forty-Five detached himself from the regeneration node and made his way to one of the deactivated consoles on the wall. He was quickly joined by Two-Twenty and Nine-Ten, who removed the covering.

After a few seconds the panel lit up and the drones started their work.

The lounge was a long way down towards the aft of the ship, at least according to the map that Four Fifty-one's Imager had constructed. As Dr. Ti had hoped, this route was largely vacant, save for a few surprised engineers working inside one of the walls. When they reached the door Ti stopped and turned around.

"This is your first group social interaction. Be nice and try to make friends."

The doctor paused for a second with his finger on his lip.

"Now that we're here, I probably should have brought Miranda. I was in such a rush to get you out here..."

He trailed off in a mumble and then came back.

"Well, I'll go in with you for a bit. Then I'll leave to get her. It'll only be a second. She's right down the hall."

Ti confirmed the idea to himself and proceeded through the door.

The inside was heavily populated with most of the people gathered around a set of tables at the other end of the room. Behind them were a few large windows showing the receding stars.

And then, as though a vacuum had torn the air from the room: silence. All eyes were on them.

Dr. Ti acted as though he was oblivious to the rapid change in volume, speaking loudly back over his shoulder.

"Well girls, here's Starfleet's finest. Be nice, guys."

He turned around to head back out the door, stopping only for a brief moment to whisper something to Three-Twelve.

"Try not to break anyone's jaw."

Three-Twelve responded without looking at him.

"Affirmative."

Dr. Ti exited with a brief wave to the two security guards between them and the door.

Silence permeated everything as Four Fifty-one searched desperately for something to say or do. Her Imager brought up the 'Oh Ankhald!' scene where he had greeted the large group. After playing it several times quickly, she took two steps forward and held out her arms.

"Welcome my friends! How are you all?"

The silence continued, broken only when a large humanoid in a red Starfleet uniform stood up.

"What do you think you're doing, Bog?"

Four Fifty-one put her hands back down. Noting the ridges on his forehead, she quickly identified the creature as a Klingon. He was about a half meter taller than her with dreadlocks that continued past his bulky shoulders.

"This unit was attempting to create a..."

"This UNIT?", he interrupted, laughing.

The Klingon started walking forward, nodding at the two security guards. They nodded back and folded their arms. His voice was solid. Every consonant felt like a hammer blow to her chest.

"This unit is right. Because you aren't human. By Kahless, I'm more human than you."

By this time he was directly in front of her, towering above her tiny frame. He seemed almost artificially large.

Four Fifty-one quickly noticed the error.

"Currently only twenty-seven percent of this unit's total mass is..."

"Shut up when I'm talking to you, Bog."

His right hand, in a lightning motion, swept out and grabbed the viewfinder of her Imager. It stuck out several centimeters, making the Klingon a nice handle. There were pinpricks of pain deep in her head as fusion points between the headpiece and the biological matter strained.

"Listen here, you freak of technology."

Four Fifty-one loosened her neck in an attempt to reduce the pressure while she quickly calculated a means of escape: Two blows to the arm, breaking it, releasing the grip. One blow to the knee, breaking it as well, incapacitating him for an escape.

She disregarded the plan immediately. There were three armed persons in the room not including the phaser on the Klingon and the two security guards behind her. Three-Twelve took a step forward and stopped, seeming to have reached the same conclusion. The only option was submission.

"You killed almost forty of my men less than two months ago. Now, you want to walk into my lounge with the people who are left and be pals?"

Four Fifty-one had not killed anywhere near forty officers herself. However, the Klingon did not seem interested in the specifics of the engagement. She kept the information to herself.

"I asked you a question, Bog."

He lifted Four Fifty-one closer to his face, forcing her to stand on the tips of her toes. The pain was searing through her entire head, pinpricks turning into burning flashes. She did not know how to answer the question. She opted to give the Klingon the answer he most likely wanted.

"No."

"That's right. And when I get the chance, I'm going to vaporize you, and the rest of the grotesque soulless machines in that room."

The Klingon's grip released the second the door opened. Dr. Ti and Miranda walked into the room. They stopped, immediately aware of the tension.

Dr. Ti spoke held his hands out, like the answer would fall into them.

"Everything, okay?"

Four Fifty-one did not respond, and instead continued to look at the Klingon. He spoke for her.

"We were just discussing the relationships between the Liberated and the rest of Starfleet."

Four Fifty-one nodded and walked back towards the door.

"We must leave."

Miranda put her arm around Four Fifty-one, leading her out the door.

"I think I understand."

The doctor gave an evil eye to the everyone in the lounge, pausing on the Klingon, K'Grat, before leaving.

When they arrived at the conference room Dr. Ti opened the door and motioned for Three-Twelve to enter. He stopped Four Fifty-one as she passed.

"I'm not going to force you, but if you need to talk about it the Counselor and I are here."

She did not look at Ti, putting her gaze directly on the ground.

"There is nothing to discuss."

He patted her on the back as she walked in and the door shut.

Miranda scowled at the doctor.

"You shouldn't have left them in there alone, even for a minute."

Ti shook his head affirmatively.

"No, I shouldn't have. I stupidly assumed that Starfleet officers would act like Starfleet officers. And you..."

He pointed at the guards.

"Don't think you got away with anything."

Ti and Miranda turned in separate directions and walked away as security took their places on either side of the door. Both guards were wearing smirks of satisfaction.

Four Fifty-one stood in front of the paper-thin reflective material that was her mirror and tried hard to remember. There were flashes of her hand typing on a console, a brief firefight with people she did not recognize and a list of commands that now meant nothing. The charges laid against her by the Klingon seemed plausible enough, but she could not recollect actually doing any of them. What if she had killed all those people?

She felt a sharp pain in her chest which forced her to lean against the wall for support. She could not have done those things. She must have been somewhere else, far away.

The lies would not stay around long enough to turn to truths. A few weeks ago, had she been able, she would have strangled Dr. Ti at the sickbay bed. She would have brought him to his knees and killed him.

Putting her hands over her face, she tried to block the image of Ti dead at her feet. It had seemed so easy then. Now, she'd rather strangle herself, break her own neck with a single violent crush than to hurt him.

Four Fifty-one pulled her hands down and looked into the mirror. The person staring back seemed so strange; it was a new person she had never met before.

And she hated her.

Her face was pale white with black veins coursing through it like dead trees. A giant bulky black device took the place of where the left side of her head had been at some point in the distant past.

Opaque tubes of wires and fluid proceeded from it to her neck and back over tufts of unkempt hair. Her left eye, left ear, all had been taken.

Her right side fared little better. Under a newly-grown thin eyebrow, a socket contained a shiny silver-gray ocular implant with no iris. It was the size and shape, she assumed, of the organ it replaced excluding the tear ducts. It could only mockingly be called her eye.

Four Fifty-one picked up the 'Oh, Ankhald!' case and scanned the image of the human on the front. Lois had brilliant green eyes, light brown hair, and skin that seemed so smooth and even-colored. Though she was facing sideways, it could be seen that her face was even and symmetrical.

Four Fifty-one looked to the mirror and used her Imager to place their faces side-by-side to reconstruct the missing pieces. Copying from one side of the face to the other where necessary, adding a decent skin tone and Lois's hairstyle with black hair, Four Fifty-one was able to see what she should have been.

She should have been so pretty, if the cover of the vid was any standard. But, that beauty was not hers anymore, if it ever was. It had been lost to her. Stolen from her. Ripped from her.

A torrent of anger drowned everything but the ugly thing in front of her. It was not theirs to take. They had created this horrid creature; pulled the flesh from the bone for their own use.

The case slipped out of Four Fifty-one's hand and hit the floor. Before she realized what had happened the mirror was shredded by the claws her hands had become. Parts of the reflective micro-filament floated through the air in a circle around her, sparkling on their way to the ground. A tiny galaxy surrounded her with little pieces of her disgusting visage in each star.

Four Fifty-one fell to her knees among the tiny reflective specks covering the ground. She would have cried if she were able. They had taken that too. She could not even mourn like a human.

Looking down into the pieces of the mirror around her, she could have seen the little rainbows that the refracted light produced or the intricate patterns they created. She could have seen how they floated to the ground, creating tiny sparkling torrents as they fell. She saw none of these. The only thing she could see were a thousand grotesque monsters staring back at her.

"Well, there's not any damage to the brain and all the connectors seem intact. I'd say you're in fine shape."

Dr. Ti ran the medical scanner over the left side of her face one more time before deactivating it and placing it back in its carriage. Even though she was elevated a bit he was still looking down at her face. He leaned on the bed where Four Fifty-one was sitting and sighed.

"Well, I talked to some of the crew about what happened the other day in the lounge."

He paused a moment for a response, but got none.

"I know I'm better off waiting till the universe comes to an end than I am waiting for you to talk about it. So, I'm going to do so by myself and you feel free to jump in at any time."

She nodded weakly.

Ti took up the bed in front of her.

"I know what K'Grat said to you, and it's not true. Most of the crew does not blame you for what the Borg did on this ship. Many people died: friends, family, and co-workers. They're just looking for a target for their grief."

He stopped for a bit, searching for the pieces of his next statement. How does one go about consoling a former Borg drone?

Four Fifty-one felt this deserved a response.

"K'Grat's accusations are accurate. Whether by malice or neglect, I was a participant in the deaths of many. Regardless of the reasoning behind the emotional state, a large number of the crew, including the Captain, do not wish for these units to be aboard."

She did not look away from the ground the entire time she was talking. Ti crossed his arms and huffed. He wished Miranda were here, but the whole point of this was to get her to talk more. Miranda felt that Four Fifty-one would respond better to him and so far she was right, but he had no experience in this.

"Well, um, I suppose that's true, but, you weren't really in control of yourself when you did those things. It wasn't really you."

Four Fifty-one was baffled by his haphazard rebuttal. She finally gained the courage to look at him.

"Who was this one then?"

"You were Borg."

"We are still Borg."

Ti uncrossed his arms and repositioned himself on the bed, gripping the edge. This was going to be a chore.

"Well, yes, but no. You're not, now. I mean, then you were a Borg-Borg, now you're just... now you're more human."

This was terribly confusing. Four Fifty-one tried desperately to make sense of the collection of words the doctor had thrown at her.

"This unit is less Borg and more human than previously?"

Ti shrugged.

"Sure."

"How much more?"

It was Ti's turn to be confused.

"What do you mean 'How much?"

"What is the ratio of human to Borg?"

The doctor kept his confused look and added an agape mouth. He spun his hand in the air while he pulled a number out of it.

"Uh, 77%?"

Four Fifty-one was not sure how the calculation was produced, but the number seemed accurate, so she repeated it.

"This unit is 77% human."

Four Fifty-one straightened a bit, though she retained her stoic appearance.

"However, that does not alter the attitude of the crew to this unit. There is a large group that do not wish us to stay."

Dr. Ti got off the bed and approached her, patting her hand.

"That is true, but most of the people you are going to meet are not going to be your friends. You have to stick around for the few that care about you."

Four Fifty-one's Imager immediately brought up the scene from 'Oh Ankhald!' where she asked him if he 'cared for her.' Four Fifty-one looked directly at Ti and rephrased the question.

"Do you care for this one?"

Ti was taken aback.

"Care? Sure. Well, that's why we're doing all these things for you. Of course I care."

She nodded.

"Then this one will stay."

Dr. Ti smiled.

"That's good to hear. We're done here, so if you want to head out that door the guards will escort you back to your quarters."

Four Fifty-one came down off the table and headed out in the direction that the doctor had motioned towards.

Ti turned around and headed to his office, looking over his shoulder at the door that she had exited from. The doctor hoped that he had not just created more problems than he had solved.


	3. Chapter 3: Return

451

Devorah Quinn

_While we are free to choose our actions, we are not free to choose the consequences of our actions. _

_~Stephen R. Covey_

_-3-_

_Return_

Lahk rounded the corner keeping his gait slow, as the doctor did not seem to be in any rush. Ti had been questioning him non-stop since he caught him leaving the lift.

"Well, that was why I was thinking that you might be able to help me understand what's going on. I mean, you guys are so logical and whatnot, and the Borg are like that. You seemed like the perfect person to come to about these things."

Lahk looked back at the doctor.

"That is a common error."

"It is?"

Lahk folded his arms and came to a stop so abruptly that Ti almost passed him up.

"We spend several years of our lives, decades in some cases, learning to control our emotions. We learn how to decipher that which is most likely untrue from that which is demonstrably certain with pure logic. The drones aboard this ship have had neither. I could not offer you any insight that you could not get more readily yourself."

Dr. Ti shuffled a bit, looking for a way to put his request more clearly.

"Yes, but they're so unemotional and linear in their thinking. I thought that you, being like you are, might be of some assistance."

Taking a moment to clarify his stance, Lahk realized what the doctor did not comprehend.

"It is not that I do not want to help you, doctor, it is simply that I would be of no use."

"How so?"

Lahk prepared the clarification he had formulated earlier.

"Vulcans are driven by logic and masters of their emotions. These, Liberated, are driven by efficiency and are victims of their emotions. Though they probably do not know it."

Now they were getting somewhere. Ti was intrigued.

"They are?"

"Indeed."

Lahk continued.

"As a Vulcan, I understand and can feel my emotions but I do not let them affect me. These Liberated will feel their emotions, but will not understand them, much less be able to control them. They are human after all."

Dr. Ti nodded.

"But they act so cold and distant. Even the most talkative among them is just a little bit more emotive than my replicator."

Lahk acted as though he had been expecting this retort.

"They have had their emotions suppressed all their lives, doctor. I would imagine they are acting like they have always acted. If I was to conjecture..."

Ti interrupted.

"Please do."

"I would conjecture that they are already more social than you may have noticed. Your statement when we first met about the one called Four Fifty-one being more responsive to you than Miranda may be evidence enough. She is apparently forming a social hierarchy and you are above Miranda in it."

Dr. Ti smiled and slapped the Vulcan on the shoulder.

"I think you've been more helpful than you realize, Commander."

"I am glad to be of assistance to you."

There was an abrupt change in the hum of the ship. The doctor immediately shot a look of concern to the Vulcan, withdrawing his hand.

"Did you feel that?"

"Yes, it appears that we have slowed down considerably."

The entire hallway dimmed, replaced by red flashing lights, and followed by that familiar siren. A voice boomed over the intercom.

"Intruder alert. Security to the shuttle bay."

The doctor and the Vulcan parted ways quickly but silently.

Four Fifty-one placed the last remaining pile of shredded mirror in the replicator and hit the option to recycle. The pieces flickered a bit as they faded away; absorbed and gone. The machine took away her weakness as it always had.

When she turned back to the room she found that Two Forty-five and Nine-ten had begun to work on a panel in the corner. It was showing ship schematics, displaying every deck and passageway throughout. Four Fifty-one was intrigued. She was under the impression that all computer access had been restricted in this room.

She approached them for more information.

"What are we attempting to do?"

Two-twenty stood and faced her.

"We are going to return."

Four Fifty-one looked towards the panel, her Imager recording every last detail while still addressing him.

"Return. Clarify."

He went back to his original position, continuing his work.

"We are going to return to the Collective, as per our instructions. There is a spacial distortion in this area that we can use to move towards Borg-occupied space."

"How do we intend to leave the ship?"

Three-twelve came up behind Four Fifty-one and injected herself into the conversation.

"They will procure a shuttle-craft from the bay and use the emitters on the front to open a gateway back to Sector 6920."

Four Fifty-one turned to address her.

"Why was this unit not informed?"

Nine-ten pivoted her head towards them. She continued typing on the panel.

"Four Fifty-one of Nine Thirty-three was preoccupied with the organic units on this ship. Inclusion was deemed an unnecessary risk."

Nine-ten stopped, but kept her hand in place in front of the console.

"Will that unit attempt to stop us?"

Four Fifty-one shook her head.

"No. However, it will not accompany you."

Nine-ten turned back and resumed her work.

"That was anticipated."

Two-Twenty laid down on the ground in the middle of the room and stared at the ceiling.

As if pre-orchestrated, Two Forty-five walked to the door and rang the chime. A

few seconds later, it slid open, revealing the two security guards.

"We require your assistance. A unit is malfunctioning."

When the officers followed him into the room he stopped short, causing the guards to pass him. When they were about a half-meter away Two Forty-five held up his hand which had been outfitted with what appeared to be a weapon made of parts from the console. He pressed a button on the side of it, letting a bright green bolt jump from it to the officers. Both hit the floor.

Four Fifty-one moved to check the status of the men, but Two Forty-five intercepted her.

"They are undamaged."

The rest of the drones, including Two-Twenty, had moved to the door as Nine-ten began to count down from twelve. They had prepared this escape down to the second.

"Twelve. Eleven. Ten."

Two-Twenty turned back towards Four Fifty-one and Three-Twelve.

"These units are certain of their decision?"

Four Fifty-one nodded and looked towards Three-Twelve who confirmed.

"Affirmative. This unit will remain with Four Fifty-one of Nine Thirty-three."

"Three. Two. One."

They proceeded through the door. Two-twenty stopped briefly in the hall to look back at the two that stayed before continuing with the others.

Three-Twelve addressed Four Fifty-one after the door had shut.

"It is very likely that they will not succeed."

Four Fifty-one agreed. Even if they made it to the shuttle-bay it was improbable that they would be able to venture far from the ship before being killed.

"If we do not stop them, they will most likely be destroyed."

The stars outside the window changed from streaks to slowly moving specks. There was no need for any conversation as they both headed into the hall to make their way towards the bridge.

As they moved down to the fore of the ship the corridor dimmed and turned red followed by a siren. Four Fifty-one knew that this would not end well.

"Intruder alert. Security to the shuttle bay."

They quickened their pace.

With the dim light illuminated only briefly with red flashes and the speed at which most of the crew were hurrying about, Four Fifty-one and Three-twelve traveled almost seamlessly down the hall to the turbo-lift. Not a meter from it a panel laid on the floor beside an engineer with his head in the wall, working on a piece of brightly-colored circuitry.

They moved to the opposite side of the hall and proceeded slowly towards the lift, hoping that the crew member would not see them. When the doors to the lift whisked open the engineer turned around. It was Lt. Jameson.

As if the timing could be any worse, the voice came back over the intercom.

"The Liberated are attempting to take control of the shuttle-bay. Officers down in starboard conference room. Security teams please report."

He immediately reached for his phaser which he pulled out and pointed directly at them. Both came to an abrupt halt.

"Just stop right there."

Four Fifty-one stepped towards him.

"We do not desire to injure you. We must get to the bridge."

Jameson licked his lips and nodded. The weapon was shaking in his hand.

"I bet you do. N-now why don't you just stay there while I get security."

Three-Twelve held up a hand and the Lieutenant stopped just before hitting his communicator.

"Jameson, we must get to the bridge or many will be destroyed."

"Who will?"

Three-twelve placed her hand on top of the phaser, but did not attempt to grab it. Two of her fingers landed on his hand. She could feel that he was tense.

"The other drones are attempting to escape. The captain has made it clear that he will destroy them should they do this."

"You must assist us." she added.

Jameson looked at the ceiling, back at Three-twelve and then sighed.

"A-alright, but I'll have to shoot you if you try anything."

She put her hand back down to her side.

"Understood."

Using the phaser as a pointing device, Jameson herded them onto the turbo-lift, positioning himself closest to Three-twelve. When the door shut he tilted his head up and gave the lift instructions to head to the bridge.

"You think you can stop them?"

Four Fifty-one responded.

"They will most likely be stopped whether we assist or not. We desire only to keep them from being destroyed."

Lt. Jameson rocked back and forth casually, with his phaser tucked under his arm. He was quite a bit more relaxed now.

"Suppose we can't let them die. Gotta take care of your own I suppose."

Four Fifty-one nodded.

"Yes. Too many have died because of us already."

He stopped rocking and looked at Four Fifty-one with surprised eyes.

"A Borg with a conscience. Huh. Suppose if you run around the universe long enough you see everything."

He smiled at them, but it quickly faded when he saw that it was not returned.

The lift came to a stop and the door opened, revealing the bridge. Four Fifty-one and Three-Twelve headed in, followed by the Lieutenant with his phaser out, trying to look as official as possible.

To the right, the Klingon K'Grat stood behind a console already with his weapon drawn. Beside him, a Vulcan with one hand on his pad and an arched brow awaiting an explanation. To their left were two humans, both too stunned to move.

In front of them an angry, red-faced man with veins popping out of his neck stood silently staring at the three that had just entered.

To some degree he resembled Captain Bellows.

The Lieutenant put the detonator on the door and keyed in a five second delay. Stepping away, he put his back against the wall a couple of meters from it. There was virtually no risk of explosion, but training had made him act otherwise.

In a silent flash the door disintegrated.

The squad moved into the shuttle-bay. The Borg had apparently altered the environmental controls filling the entire room with fog. There was almost no visibility for any distance past a few meters.

"Little bastards thought of everything." the Lieutenant muttered to himself.

Since the most likely scenario was that the drones were attempting to steal a shuttle, the squad had broken into three teams: One headed towards the control booth, one to the manual hanger controls, and then his team, which went right down the center to stop the drones from boarding.

The control booth team radioed first.

"There's no one up in the booth, but there's some kind of program running. Controls are all green and in some strange language. Looks like a countdown. Can't make out the numbers. We could have five seconds or five minutes."

The Lieutenant tapped his combadge to respond.

"Try to stop it. We're just about to the shuttles."

"Trying."

There was a noise in the distance. The Lieutenant snapped his gun around. His two teammates followed suit. He motioned for them to take cover while he moved up.

There they were; all three of them. Two drones were heading into the shuttle while a third typed on an exterior display.

He raised his weapon and aimed for the center of mass on the one still working outside.

The Borg moved at the last second, throwing the shot off. The phaser burst hit the drone's shoulder, knocking it off balance. It spun a bit, held up its hand and sent a barrage of green energy towards them.

A blast hit the Lieutenant in the leg, causing him to fall sideways. Two of the shots were returned as his teammates fired back. One of their phaser shots went over the drone's head and the other hit it in the side. It toppled over, stiff like a mannequin.

The Lieutenant got back to his feet and hobbled over to the Borg, resisting the urge to use his rifle as a crutch. The team arrived at the drone together. One of his colleagues stepped on the still-writhing chest of the male Borg and set his weapon to its highest power. He aimed for the head and pulled the trigger.

Swinging his gun in a downward motion, the Lieutenant hit the weapon before it fired, sending the shot into the ground.

"No. He's down. We need to find out what happened to the-"

A voice interrupted.

"This is the control room, whatever it was counting down to, uh, it's done."

The shuttle beside them came to life, its engines powering up for departure. He hit his combadge to signal the team at the manual controls.

"We've got a liftoff. That door needs to be shut."

A grunting voice came in response.

"The controls are all covered in that green garbage. We... ugh... we're having to pump the door shut by hand."

The shuttle shot straight up a couple of meters and then headed slowly towards the exit. The door was starting to shut, but the space left in the middle between the two closing sides was still going to be wide enough, if barely.

The whole team got down on one knee and opened fire. This wasn't going to do any good and they knew that, but they had to try something.

The shuttle scraped the door as it squeezed through. The shield protecting the shuttle-bay from the vacuum of space flickered bright blue as it proceeded through. They were too late.

The Lieutenant didn't resist this time and used his rifle to stand while hitting his combadge.

"Security to bridge."

"Bridge here."

He sighed. This was not what he wanted to report.

"They managed to shut down most of the computers here. One of the drones is down, but still alive, the other two have escaped. We've got injured, but no casualties."

"Acknowledged."

The Lieutenant turned around and motioned to the other teams that had converged on them to move the Borg. He walked as best he could out to the hall. The rest of his battle was going to take place in sickbay.

Captain Bellows was the first to speak. He was obviously not pleased with the new additions to the bridge.

"Do you want to explain this Jameson?"

Lt. Jameson stepped in front of the two Liberated, keeping his phaser pointed at Four Fifty-one.

"Well, sir, they uh, they said they could help."

Bellows turned around and faced them directly.

"You are aware that we are currently being attacked by their friends?"

Jameson had slipped back into his nervous state.

"Uh, yes. But they didn't seem threatening. They said they just wanted to come to the bridge."

"So you just waltzed them up here? You thought that was the best plan?"

The intercom came on before Jameson had a chance to reply. Not that he had much of one.

"Security to bridge."

Bellows huffed.

"Bridge here."

"They managed to shut down most of the computers here. One of the drones is down, but still alive, the other two have escaped. We've got injured, but no casualties."

Captain Bellows nodded to no one.

"Acknowledged."

The Klingon K'Grat pointed to the viewscreen which he had just changed to show the bottom side of the ship.

"Sir, the shuttle is coming up our underside towards the fore of the ship."

Bellows turned around to see it passing the front tip of the saucer and heading into space. He mumbled to himself.

"Where do they think they're going?"

He looked over at the Klingon and nodded. K'Grat took to his console.

"Locking phasers on the shuttle."

"Wait!"

Four Fifty-one stepped forward with one hand out.

"It might be possible to disable the-"

The Captain turned around in one jerky motion and pointed his finger at her.

"You. Quiet."

She retracted her hand and looked at Jameson, who just shrugged.

Bellows returned to the screen.

"Fire."

There was nothing.

"I said fire."

The Klingon was furiously tapping at the pad in front of him.

"The power for the phaser arrays has been rerouted. We've just blown out half the replicators on decks seven through ten."

Bellows huffed again.

"Torpedoes?"

K'Grat shook his head.

"Same. It'll take several minutes to reconfigure these properly."

"Tractor Beam."

The Vulcan in a blue shirt pressed a button on the console in front of him.

"Tractor Beam engaged."

On the viewscreen a blue funnel of energy reached from the ship and latched onto the shuttle, but only for a moment.

The Vulcan had begun to type more quickly.

"They are rotating their shield frequency and creating some kind of feedback loop. We will not be able to hold them for any extended period of time."

Four Fifty-one and Three-Twelve were familiar with this pattern. They were cycling the shuttle's shield modulation from high to low, forcing the tractor beam systems to re-grab the ship every few seconds. This could be easily compensated for, but neither of them mentioned it. The Captain was already angry and the Klingon just needed an excuse.

K'Grat hit the top of his console.

"They won't be able to get far in that thing."

The Vulcan addressed the Klingon while still tapping on his pad.

"I disagree. I believe they have a plan to move some distance from us. In fact, I believe they are implementing it now."

He motioned towards the screen.

The front of the shuttle turned green, firing a beam into space. A small bright spot appeared only meters off its nose, and began to grow larger.

The Vulcan continued.

"They are tapping into a subspace distortion and are attempting to open a portal of some type. At its current rate of growth I believe we have only a few seconds until we will be unable to pursue."

Bellows held up his hand and was about to say something when the intercom came on.

"Engineering to Bridge."

"Bridge here." Bellows responded.

"We may have phasers back for you, but the targeting sensors haven't been recalibrated, so you're going to be firing blind."

Captain Bellows pointed to K'Grat.

"Understood."

The Klingon made some quick changes.

"Firing."

The phaser powered up and blasted through empty space, missing its target by a solid week.

"Re-aiming."

The shuttle began to move towards the rift it had created. They were only going to get one more shot in.

K'Grat slammed his finger onto the console.

"Firing."

The phasers tore into the shuttle, knocking it off its course. The shields were gone and the side of the craft was burned so badly that you could not tell the shuttle from the dark space around it. It listed slightly to one side as one of the two remaining thrusters attempted to move it into the rift again.

The Klingon fired again and the shuttle was almost entirely disintegrated. Debris spun off the main hull like burning flower petals. What was left whimpered out brief, pathetic explosions.

The rift closed silently leaving just the dead black of space and a few oxygen-less fires. Four Fifty-one looked over at K'Grat. He was directing a toothy, self-satisfied smile at her.

Four Fifty-one tapped the forcefield in front of her. It flashed a bit, pushing her away while delivering a mild shock. They were definitely prisoners now.

Three-twelve paced back and forth in her cell across the hall. She looked agitated, stopping every once in a while to check the shield as though it was suddenly going to drop and let her out.

"We could repower our personal shielding units and attempt to break through this forcefield."

Four Fifty-one put her hands behind her back.

"To go where?"

Three-twelve did not respond. There was nowhere to go even if they did escape. The other drones had made that abundantly clear.

"We should have gone with them."

Four Fifty-one shook her head.

"No, then we would either be in sickbay with Two-Twenty, or more likely, destroyed as well."

"You most definitely would have been."

Dr. Ti emerged into their field of vision, his hands behind his back. There was no telling how long he had been there since the entrance of the room could not be seen. It had probably been designed that way.

"Well girls, I see you've found no shortage of trouble to get into. Between a very angry Lieutenant in my sickbay and a Chief Engineer who won't even talk to me, I'd say you've given me more headaches than usual."

Four Fifty-one jumped into her explanation immediately.

"This one was unaware of their intent. We learned of the plan just prior to it being enacted."

Ti nodded his head in the affirmative.

"That you remained behind willingly is as good an argument as any for you. I have no doubt that you're not involved in all this. Fortunately, I think the Captain agrees, if most of his officers don't."

"Will we be destroyed?"

Ti gave her a surprised look.

"No, of course not. The Federation is not fond of executing prisoners. Especially when they haven't done anything. If you didn't know then you're not complicit in it. I see no way for you to be formally charged with anything."

Three-Twelve spoke almost inaudibly, looking off to the back of the room.

"We should probably be destroyed."

Ti turned towards her.

"I see no reason for that. However, you are still my patients, until the Captain changes his mind. And as such, you're under my care."

She did not take her eyes off the wall nor did she say anything back.

Four Fifty-one understood. She too felt that they should not be here. They should both be atomized dust with the others. However, she could find no reason why this seemed to be true.

"Come on, both of you. I have something you need to see."

Ti tapped on the panels beside each of the cells and motioned for them to follow. The forcefields lowered with a brief fizzle and the three headed out into the hall. The security guards there began to stop them, but then relented before saying a word.

The path they were taking showed up immediately on Four Fifty-one's Imager. They were heading to the port side of the ship, near the aft.

Ti stopped briefly in front of a door with the word "Morgue" written on it. He tapped in a code on the panel embedded in the frame and stepped inside.

The room was much larger than one would have thought it would be from the outside. Along the walls several silver and black tubes were lined up side by side. The silver ones had a clear window that ran the length of it while the black ones were completely opaque.

Ti motioned around the room.

"Take a look, and tell me what you see."

The two walked along the sides of the room, looking in each of the silver tubes. They were filled with drones. Some were badly damaged, while others were in near-perfect condition. Three-twelve and Four Fifty-one were both able to identify at least thirty-seven members of their former crew.

"Who is this?"

Dr. Ti was pointing to a drone in the corner.

Three-twelve answered.

"That is 517 of 933."

"Tell me about him."

Three-twelve gave the doctor a confused look. Four Fifty-one responded instead.

"That is 517 of 933 assigned to Tactical Cube 769392223. Housed in Ancillary power generation. Function: Utility Drone."

"What else?"

Four Fifty-one knew of nothing else. There was no need for further information. She looked at Three-twelve who was still trying to figure out the reason behind this line of questioning.

"We do not have any further information on this drone."

Dr. Ti smiled and headed over to Three-Twelve while pointing at her.

"And what about this one."

Four Fifty-one almost didn't know where to begin. She opted to respond with Three-Twelve's technical information.

"That is 312 of 933 assigned to Tactical Cube 769392223. Housed in Ancillary Weapons station. Function: Reinforced Tactical Drone."

Ti spun his hands slowly over each other and leaned forward.

"And..."

"That unit is fond of a vid called 'Oh! Ankhald!' It has watched the entire series several times. Prefers standing to sitting. Currently, the only drone to eat synthesized food from the replicator. Specifically, various types of ice cream. It also..."

The doctor cut her off.

"I think that's enough. Don't oversell her."

He sighed and walked slowly with his arms crossed.

"Most of these drones were killed in combat, as you can see. There were others that we captured. Sixteen actually, but we couldn't save them."

He sighed again and leaned on a table in the middle of the room. He was staring at one of the drones in a casket in front of him.

"Well, most of them really. They were too far gone. The Borg have become more invasive in their assimilation techniques over the last few decades. We can't just pull parts off and send you Liberated on your way anymore. The majority of you can't be fixed."

He stopped for a short while. Four Fifty-one noted that he had begun to have difficulty speaking.

"There's no way to tell if they'll live through the Liberation process. If too much of them were machine, if they were too dependent on the Collective, I couldn't do anything. I disconnected them, and they died."

He pinched the bridge of his nose and walked towards Four Fifty-one. Three-twelve followed close behind.

"Out of nearly a thousand drones, you're the only ones left. You're it."

He stopped to put his hands on both their shoulders.

"Don't make all of this meaningless."

The walk back to the brig was mostly a silent one. The doctor had given them both much to think about and they said little.

When they rounded the last corner a little man in a yellow uniform and a considerable amount of hair came at them pointing angrily while shouting. He had emerged from an open door with an impressive light display going on inside.

"You! This is your fault!"

Ti raised his hands as if surrendering.

He was almost two thirds the size of the doctor, but he had a temperament that made him seem much bigger. He waved his finger in Ti's face.

"This is all you and your toys' fault. Here I was almost locked in on that damn signal and you guys had to go and goof with the power systems so now I'm back at square one."

Ti stuttered a bit, completely confused as to what the Tellarite was referring to.

"Uh, we did what now?"

The little man with the beard and upturned nose hit a couple of buttons on his pad and held it up in the doctor's face.

"Do you know what this is?"

Ti did not know what he was looking at. Several wavy lines moved from one side of the pad to the other. Most of them were orangish-red excluding a green one that faded in and out.

"No."

Four Fifty-one recognized it immediately; a Borg resonance trace. It was a signal produced by Borg equipment that allowed it to maintain communication with other Borg technology in the area.

"That... THAT is a Borg resonance trace. I've been tracking it for weeks and I thought I finally had a fix on it. Then, you drones had to go and blow every power relay on the ship and now I have to start all over."

Dr. Ti tried to look concerned, but couldn't think of how he could be of any help to him.

Three-twelve spoke up.

"Perhaps this unit can be of assistance?"

The Tellarite leaned over to look at her.

"What can you do?"

"This one is somewhat familiar with Borg technology."

The doctor let out a short laugh and quickly stifled it.

Three-twelve continued.

"This unit could be of assistance to you in tracking down this rogue device."

The Tellarite looked almost pleased.

"Would that work, doctor?"

Ti shrugged his shoulders.

"I don't have a problem with it, but the Captain is probably going to want security trailing your every move. That's assuming that we can even convince him to let her out."

During the conversation Four Fifty-one had moved towards the open door to investigate the lights flashing out from it. There was a small cylindrical shaft about five meters in diameter heading down about twenty meters.

She stepped out onto the small grated walkway and looked down. The light was emanating from a large blue and white ball of energy at the bottom. Her Imager concluded that a lot of power being generated there.

"What are you doing?"

The Tellarite had come up behind her and was standing in the doorway indignantly.

Four Fifty-one turned to address him.

"What is the function of this device?"

"That is a fusion generator. We have a few of them on the ship for when we need a little extra 'umph'. They don't have near the output of the core, but they're handy if you find yourself in need of a bit more power than usual."

She looked down at the sporadically pulsing semi-orb of energy being produced below.

"How many are on this ship?"

"Total? Three. Listen, this isn't question time. I've got work to do and you've got a brig to sit in."

He motioned for her to come out.

"Now get out of there. If you fall into the fusion field, not only will you be disintegrated instantly, but worse, I'll have to shut it down to clean it."

Four Fifty-one exited the shaft and rejoined the doctor and Three-twelve.

The Tellarite called after them as they walked away.

"I'll go talk to Bellows. Hopefully, I'll be seeing you tomorrow."

When they were well on their way to the brig Ti leaned in to talk to Three-twelve with a smile on his face.

"Somewhat familiar?"

She looked back at Dr. Ti.

"This unit did not want to oversell itself."


	4. Chapter 4: Beacon

451

Devorah Quinn

_'Don't be such an utter and amazing fool,' hissed the voice of Hara, who had crept up to him unseen in the darkness. 'What is the unknown man to you? Think how useful you are! Besides, it will be suicide over again.' _

_'It will be nothing of the kind,' said Aner. _

_~"The Life Story of Aner" Frederic William Farrar (1898)_

**_-4-_**

_Beacon_

Three-Twelve stopped just inside the entrance to the Engineering lab and scanned the area for the Tellarite. When he noticed her, he replaced the pad in his hand with a scanning device and headed in her direction. She stood, almost motionless, looking over the displays in her immediate area. The two security guards that had been following her stationed themselves on either side of the door.

The Tellarite, Lieutenant Commander Gru, held out the device for her to grab, which she did.

"This is what we've been using to track down the source of the signal. It's apparently using the power relays as a sort of antenna. Also..."

He reached over the top of the scanner and pressed a button on the bottom. A second display came up showing the timing of the signal.

"The repetition of the signal is random. We can't tell when we're going to see it and when we're not. Add that to the fact that it's weak, changes paths constantly and you're in for my last two month's headache."

Three-Twelve adjusted the display, looking at the signal in pieces. It immediately became obvious that there was more than one signal layered on top of each other.

"There are three signals, not one."

The Tellarite strained to see over the top of the device at the first screen.

"There are?"

She turned her attention to Gru who was still intently studying the scanner.

"Do you have a console that this unit can use?"

He looked up and across the room at a few empty ones, pointing at a small cramped terminal in a corner near the door.

"You can have that one."

Three-Twelve proceeded to it, placing the pad in a cradle on the console. It did not fit well, but it interfaced to the system properly. She began to pull apart the signal into its various parts while Gru watched.

"Here are the layers."

She pointed to three green wavy lines proceeding across the terminal's dusty screen.

"This first one is a carrier. It contains no information. The second stream is an encrypted data channel. The third stream is unknown."

The Tellarite continued to look over the screen.

"What data is it sending?"

Three-Twelve pressed a few buttons, making the second signal cover the entire screen and shrinking the other two to the bottom.

"Unknown. This unit has not had sufficient time to decrypt it."

The Tellarite was fixated on the random data being pulled from the signal as the computer attempted to decode it. He sounded worried now as he pointed to the third line on the bottom.

"What do you suppose that third one could be?"

"Repeat: Unknown."

Gru waved away the comment.

"Right, right. But if you had to guess what would you say it was?"

She paused for a moment, putting together all the possibilities before responding.

"Telemetry."

"Why?"

"The Borg would find it inefficient to add another signal layer unless the information was to be utilized. The first signal is necessary: it controls connections. The second is data. The third would be the next most useful: where the data is coming from."

The Tellarite was becoming more and more fidgety.

"You must decrypt it. This could be a bigger deal than I had thought."

She began typing on the pad, attempting to pick up the signal again. It was strong when she scanned for it from her current position, but she expected that.

"This unit will comply with your request."

Gru walked away mumbling to himself.

"Can't believe I waited two months to track..."

As his voice faded off Three-Twelve began to work on breaking it down so she could start deciphering the information contained in the second stream. It was an empty gesture however. She knew exactly what she'd find.

The Navigation Officer leaned back to make the announcement loudly over his shoulder.

"Fifteen seconds until we clear the border."

Captain Bellows placed his head into his hand, trying to stay comfortable in his chair. The last five months had been a grueling experience. The fleet was gone, over a third of his crew were dead and his ship was only just now slowly starting to come back together. The next week couldn't pass fast enough.

The Navigation Officer leaned back again.

"And we are now in Federation Space."

Applause erupted from everyone on the bridge excluding the Vulcan, Lahk, who continued to monitor his station.

Bellows clapped halfheartedly. He found little reason to celebrate.

"Slow to Warp five."

The ship's hum slid down a few octaves as it came to a standard cruising speed. Bellows tried hard not to look as worn out as he was.

Lahk spoke up from his terminal at the back of the room.

"Sir, I am getting some unusual readings on the edge of our sensor range."

The Captain stood up to look back over his chair.

"Unusual? How?"

The Vulcan shook his head.

"For a few seconds, when we dropped to Warp five, sensors picked up a Borg energy signature directly behind us. However, it is not there anymore."

Bellows walked up to the science station to look at the readout from the sensor logs.

"An error? Maybe an echo?"

Lahk continued to work on cleaning up the information. The contact had been so brief, and they were only picked up by routine passive scans. There was not much to work with.

"Possibly, but not likely."

"Are you suggesting that we are being followed?"

Lahk stopped typing and looked at the Captain.

"I am not suggesting anything other than we detected a Borg energy signature. There is not enough information to draw a useful conclusion."

Bellows stroked his white beard thoughtfully.

"What if we reduce speed again? Maybe even stopped?"

"If we are indeed being followed, they may be prepared for that now. Also, as of right now they may not know if we have detected them or not. If we slow again, that may give us away."

Lahk took the lack of a reply to field the next set of questions that the captain would most likely ask.

"That would inevitably lead to a confrontation and we do not know what type of ship we observed. It could be a small Probe, or a full Tactical Cube. In the case of the latter, we would most certainly be destroyed."

Bellows almost cracked a smile.

"That's what I thought last time."

The Vulcan put his hands behind his back, looking at the same screen on his console as the Captain.

"Last time, we were accompanied by sixteen other ships and we had the element of surprise. I also would like to remind you that this ship was the sole survivor of that fleet."

The Captain became solemn.

"What do you suggest we do?"

Lahk pressed a few buttons, bringing up the Labra's outline with wide, almost triangular arcs protruding out of it. A green dot blinked at the far right of the image, almost directly in line with the aft of the ship.

"The object appeared almost instantly after we reduced speed. I believe that it is very close to the outside edge of our scanners. I suggest we discuss increasing the sensor range with Engineering."

Bellows nodded.

"Do it."

Three-Twelve entered Sickbay, leaving the two security guards outside. Dr. Ti stood up from behind his desk, obviously surprised at his new guest. He made his way around the beds towards her with a confused look on his face.

"Three-Twelve? What can I help you with?"

She headed towards the doctor, meeting him halfway across the room.

"This unit requires a medical scanner capable of storing and recording chemical reactions at the molecular level. Preferably through bone."

Ti paused for a moment and then headed to a cabinet on the far wall. This was an odd request, especially considering her line of investigation.

"You're looking for a kind of deep-tissue analyzer. Something like a surgical tricorder."

He pulled a device out and began to hand it to Three-Twelve. He stopped short.

"If I might ask, why are you needing a piece of surgical equipment?"

Three-Twelve reached out to grab the device, almost snatching it from his hand.

"This unit needs to scan a bulk of biological matter for a specific series of chemical reactions."

The doctor finished handing over the equipment.

"I gathered that. I was wondering what you were going to be scanning specifically in Engineering with a medical tricorder. Biogel packs?"

"Possibly. This one is not certain that the device will be needed."

She opened the tricorder to verify that it had the functionality she was requiring. When she had confirmed its efficacy she closed it and turned to leave.

Ti interrupted her departure.

"Two-twenty is fine. He'll make a full recovery."

Three-Twelve stopped, but did not turn around. She opted instead to talk over her shoulder.

"That is to be expected. The unit did not take significant damage and care was administered quickly."

"Yes. I just thought you would like to know, with him being your brother."

Three-Twelve turned her head back towards the door.

"Biological relationship is irrelevant but it is fortunate that more did not die."

Ti took this opportunity to try to get her to talk more. She was the more stubborn of the two females.

"How are you handling the loss of your friends? We haven't really had time to talk about it."

Three-Twelve turned around to face the doctor again.

"Friends? Clarify."

The doctor couldn't tell if she genuinely didn't care about them or if she was just hiding behind that cold Borg exterior. He knew the emotions were in there, but which ones they were was impossible to tell.

"The other drones who tried to escape. You were with them a long time, possibly since birth. Whatever that might entail for a Borg."

Three-Twelve rolled the tricorder in her hand.

"They attempted to forcibly leave this ship. They were warned all means would be brought against them if they chose to do so. They destroyed themselves."

Dr Ti walked slowly towards her with one hand out.

"I'm not asking about the other drones. I'm asking about you. How are _you_ handling it."

Three-Twelve paused for a second and then replied.

"There is nothing to handle. They were destroyed of their own volition. Their plan had a low probability of success."

Ti nodded sadly.

"Yes, yes they were. But they were family..."

She interrupted abruptly.

"Family is irrelevant."

The doctor held up his hands.

"Alright, Ms. 312. Just thought I'd ask."

Three-Twelve started to turn back towards the door.

"This unit finds the conversation to be an inefficient use of its time."

Dr Ti gave a partial wave.

"You're free to go. Lovely talk, as always."

Three-Twelve headed out into the hallway as Ti crossed the room to close the cabinet door. If nothing else, now he knew which twin was the evil one.

Dr. Ti walked into Miranda's quarters to find her reclined on the couch. She laid the pad she was holding on her chest and looked up at the doctor. Her eyes could just be seen through the few blonde curls of hair that spiraled in front of her face.

"Well, come in I guess."

Ti stopped with a surprised look on his face, turning his head to see the still-open door. "Sorry, I didn't even think about it. I can go back outside and press the chime if you'd like."

Miranda put her pad on the end-table and rolled into a sitting position while smiling at the doctor.

"I should be used to it by now, I suppose."

The doctor smiled back and moved to sit beside her. The door whisked shut behind him.

"Are you aware that Four Fifty-one has removed the mirror from her room?"

Miranda looked inquisitively at the doctor, brushing her hair to one side.

"She has?"

Ti nodded. This was not what he had come to discuss, but he couldn't think of anything else to use as a pretense.

"From what I've gathered from Two-Twenty, she took down the mirror and recycled it in the replicator. I don't know if that means anything, though."

Miranda placed her hand on her chin as though deep in thought.

"Well, it could mean that she doesn't want a mirror. It could be that simple. Or it could be that she's having a hard time looking at it."

Miranda started again before the doctor could reply.

"We can't play psychologist every time one of them moves a piece of furniture."

Ti agreed but he could think of no better excuse to bother her.

"So what do you suggest?"

Miranda readjusted herself on the couch, folding her hands in her lap.

"Well, it's a pretty pat counselor answer, but you should probably try asking her. If my past two months with the Liberated have taught me anything, it's that they always have a reason for everything."

Miranda stood and walked across the room to the replicator.

"Speaking of their quarters, are they getting it back?"

"Nathan is going to let them move back to the conference room since we've got less than a week before we drop them off."

Miranda pressed a few buttons and a steaming cup of liquid materialized in front of her.

"He's being rather accommodating considering the circumstances. He could probably just as well keep them in the brig."

Ti was quite aware of how odd this was for him. Maybe the Captain had softened to them a bit.

He could smell the aroma of hot sweet tea as it filled the air. It was an attractive smell that fit her perfectly.

"It is, but I don't pretend to know the mind of Mr. Bellows."

Miranda returned to the couch, but remained standing, sipping her drink.

"They're lucky that no officers were killed in the escape attempt. We'd have to keep the drones in the brig to protect them from the crew."

Dr. Ti stood with Miranda. He tried to put together some words to explain why he had really come here, but none would form into anything resembling a sentence. Perhaps it was better if he just left.

"Well, that was all I needed to talk to you about."

Miranda stepped closer to him, leaving only about two centimeters and a cup between them. She put her hand on his arm.

"The mirror? That's it?"

Ti lied.

"Yeah, that's it. Just wanted your opinion."

He turned around to head out the door. Miranda called out after him.

"Well, bye then."

He stopped and gave a short wave.

"Oh yeah, bye."

As he exited into the hall, Miranda turned around and headed back to what she was reading. She had a pretty good idea what that was really about but neither of them had the courage to talk about it. Maybe someday.

Three-Twelve leaned slightly to her side, trying her best to look as though she was scanning the wall with her tricorder. The guards were keeping pace, speeding up when she rounded a corner so as not to lose sight of her. If she remembered correctly, from her walk through this area last week, there was an access point here that would serve her purpose well.

Stopping at a wall and crouching, she could see that there were two small red arrows marking the entrance door to the small shaft. Placing a finger on either one and pushing she released the covering and placed it on the ground.

The tube was one meter in diameter, of almost hexagonal shape and proceeding out for another five meters before making a sharp turn. This would do well for her needs, provided the security personnel with her did not decide to follow.

"This unit must scan this set of power nodes. The entire process will take an estimated fifteen minutes."

Three-Twelve did not wait for a reply, slipping herself feet-first into the tiny Jeffries tube. Using the hand-holds on top, she was able to scoot herself down the shaft. It was a more spacious fit than she had imagined, giving her enough room to operate and move fairly freely.

As she scooted her way around the corner of the shaft she could see the panel she would probably, but hopefully not need to, access. She stopped halfway there, pulled out her tricorder and started the first phase of her examination.

Three-Twelve removed the Deep Tissue Analyzer from the top of the surgical tricorder the doctor had given her and placed it just below her neck. She started the scan and took a deep breath to relieve the tightening in her chest. The relief was only temporary.

The tricorder whirred into the third phase of tests as a voice echoed down the tube.

"Are you okay in there?"

It was one of the security guards. Three-Twelve responded, a vocal crack snapping her sentence in two.

"This one is curr- currently performing a series of scans."

"Okay, just checking. Don't want to have to vaporize any more of you Bogs."

As the two guards continued their muffled laugh, Three-Twelve returned her attention to the tricorder.

It beeped, displaying a clear image of what she had feared most. There was no removing it now and time was limited. She had to act.

Three-Twelve slid herself down the shaft farther, placing herself at eye-level with the panel. Pulling the releases on its cover and placing it to one side, she was met with a display panel and a series of glowing circuitry.

It did not take her long to access the information she needed and type it into her medical scanner: 8-8-8-9-point-9-7 followed by the transmit command. Her ocular implants gave her a "received" message as they went about their job updating her on the modifications being made.

She placed the panel back on the wall and made her way around the corner, heading towards the exit. Outside she could hear the guards talking with someone over the intercom, but she could not hear both sides of the conversation.

"We're near Primary Damage Control."

The other voice was inaudible even as she moved closer.

"Aye, sir. We'll get her out."

Three-Twelve concluded that she had been compromised. From her current position, she could see that she was within arms length of one of the security guard's phasers and that it was set to stun.

Taking the opportunity, she reached out, grabbed it, and fired it while still in the holster. The beam shot down into the guard's leg, dropping him silently.

In a single swift move she rolled over, pulling the phaser out and training it on the second guard. This one managed to get a whimper out before being hit and sent to the floor.

Three-Twelve pulled herself out of the Jeffries tube and stood. The entire hallway went dim and the familiar red lights and siren took over. The weapons fire had set her plan into motion ahead of schedule.

The display in her ocular implant notified her that the requested adaptation had been made. Several points on her body were highlighted, indicating they were ready.

She pressed a button on a device embedded in her arm and her personal shields powered up with a flash. 8-8-8-9-point-9-7 flashed across her vision. This was not what she had planned, but it would have to suffice.

He had stayed late for two reasons: the first was to increase the range of the senors enough to get Lahk to leave him alone, the second was to snoop on Three-Twelve. Well, snooping wasn't a fair term. Gru had asked him to keep an eye on the drone for the week or so she'd been here, which he did. He had a hard time keeping his eyes off of her, as his co-workers reminded him constantly.

Jameson looked around slowly, craning his neck to see through the little window across the room. The lab seemed to be as empty as the rest of Engineering, per usual. They'd been running for months on very few people. Security liked to complain about their losses when the Borg boarded, but his department had been hit the hardest.

The Borg came, as they always did, to Engineering first. The entire second shift plus a few were gone within minutes followed by scores of others and repair teams here and there. After all was said and done, there weren't but twelve left in this department. Twelve very very tired people.

Jameson stood and headed back towards the lab, still keeping an eye out for others. He could easily explain why he was poking around, but it was easier to not get asked in the first place.

After the door opened he headed to the console in the corner where Three-Twelve had been working. The display was still dusty. She apparently had not found it necessary to clean it yet, or possibly ever. He smirked to himself. Not an efficient use of time.

He sat down on the chair in front of the terminal and brought up the last page that had been used. It was a triangulation map of the signal she had been tracking, but it had not been updated in days. The path of the calculations led in a near-spiral around the fore of the ship, stopping about where the brig was.

Jameson backed the screen up further until he came to a list of information that Three-Twelve had collected. He slid his finger down the list on the display.

The first portion of the list was mostly a collection of formulas and some maps of the ship followed by a few specifications on the power nodes and their operating frequencies.

Next, and perhaps most oddly, was a list of organic chemical compounds containing a plethora of words that Jameson could not hope to ever pronounce. It was followed by a log of blocked attempts to access shield and weapons frequencies. It was dated several days ago and had not been used since.

The last in the list was an encrypted file labeled "IMPLT_SCN". Jameson attempted to open it but with little luck.

Suddenly, the console sprang to life opening the IMPLT_SCN file and displaying data in several phases. It was being updated remotely by a medical tricorder while being filtered and correlating with the other information in the list.

Jameson watched as the image and data became clearer. Whatever it was scanning, it wasn't a power node, or anything of Federation make. In fact, it didn't look to be a part of any ship he'd seen. It almost looked organic.

In a flash it came to him. He was looking at the upper torso and part of the neck of a human, but with a lot of extra equipment. He was no doctor, but with the elevated heart-rate and blood pressure the individual being scanned was obviously extremely nervous. There were tubes and wires going every which way inside its body and implants too numerous to count or even distinguish between.

However, one stood out, mostly because the display had highlighted it in red. The computer had begun to scan it more thoroughly, breaking it down into a schematic. It was about the size of a fist, partially triangle shaped, and looked unfinished. According to the readout, it contained a series of chemicals extracted from the organic material around it, none of which Jameson recognized.

The scan abruptly ended, leaving him staring at the list of files he had been examining earlier. Whatever he had just seen, it was not meant to be seen by him, and he was pretty sure that Gru did not know about this either. He had to find out what was going on before he could act.

Regaining his composure, Jameson opened the list of organic chemicals that he had passed over earlier. The list was long and he could not remember the names of any from the scan he had just seen. He slapped the console with his hand and stood. If he was going to get any answers he was probably going to have to ask Three-Twelve. It was obvious she was up to something.

He tapped his combadge.

"Jameson to Security team."

"Security here."

There was a brief pause as he decided what to say. He didn't want to sound alarmed, as she might be near and attempt to escape.

"Where are you now?"

"We're near Primary Damage Control."

What were they doing there? That was near the aft of the ship. This was quite a bit away from where Three-Twelve's calculations indicated she should be looking. Something told Jameson that Three-Twelve had either found the source of the signal or started her own side-project.

"Why don't you guys head back towards Engineering? I've got some things that I... that I need her opinion on."

"Aye, sir. We'll get her out."

"Jameson out."

He tapped his communicator and leaned against the wall. Something was definitely wrong, but he couldn't quite put the pieces together. Who was that scan of? One of the drones? What was the implant and why was it being scanned?

The lights dimmed and the red alert siren came on. Jameson sighed and muttered to himself as he made his way towards the exit.

"Not again."


	5. Chapter 5: Sibling

451

Devorah Quinn

_I don't believe an accident of birth makes people sisters or brothers. It makes them siblings, gives them mutuality of parentage. Sisterhood and brotherhood is a condition people have to work at. _

_~Maya Angelou_

_**-5-**_

_Sibling  
_

The instant that the red alert announcement was made Four Fifty-one knew that it was Three-Twelve's doing. She had been quiet and contemplative the entire time she had been working with Gru. Some days she only stopped in long enough to regenerate and leave again.

Four Fifty-one had tried to coax more information about the project out of her, but had been largely unsuccessful. Every conversation was ended by blunt phrasing or a constant barrage of "Unknowns." After a few days Four Fifty-one had given up. However, it had now become clear that Three-Twelve was in need of assistance.

Activating what was left of the shielding implant in her arm, Four Fifty-one placed her hand against the forcefield of her cell. The power she could generate was not enough to protect her, but it might be enough to short out the field and allow her to escape.

The shield flashed with a greenish-blue hue as she modulated frequencies and power distribution. For several minutes it held before finally dropping with a bright flash.

Four Fifty-one proceeded out of the holding area and to the door. It slid open to reveal a nearly empty corridor save for a few Starfleet officers off to her side. The group was comprised of two security personnel and a confused Lt. Jameson, who had a wall panel in his hand.

"Four Fifty-one! How did you get out?"

"This unit shorted out the shield emitter that barred its exit. Why are we at red alert?"

Jameson set the panel in his hand on the floor and moved closer to her, though not leaving the hall he was currently in. He was still far enough away that he had to shout.

"Three-Twelve stunned some guards and took off. She's also activated most of the emergency containment fields in this part of the ship. We're having to disengage them one at a time. It's taking forever."

He grimaced as he tapped the air in front of him revealing one of several shields that stood between them.

Four Fifty-one nodded.

"This one will attempt to track that unit. Is there information on the unit's current location?"

Jameson shrugged.

"Last I heard she was near Primary Damage Control. The only things over there are a bunch of empty quarters and one of the Fusion generators. Plus, she's got all that area sealed off. I think it's a safe bet that she doesn't plan on leaving."

"Weaponry?"

"Like I said, she shot two guards and took the phaser. Only stunned them, of course, but she might change her mind."

Four Fifty-one turned away from Jameson and began to head down the hall. She was stopped after a few steps by Jameson shouting again.

"Hey! There's something you should know."

She turned around to face him again. Jameson looked around the hall and repositioned himself several times.

"I was... uh... looking at some of her work and I think that the whole signal thing that she was looking for was... uh... it might be in her."

"In her? Clarify."

He waved his hand in a circle in front of him, trying to coax the sentences out.

"Somehow that signal that she and Gru were looking for is tied to some implant in her. At least that's what it looked like. I didn't get to look at the medical scans for very long, but it's probably why we're, well, why we're having this conversation."

Four Fifty-one understood. This would explain her erratic behavior lately. Jameson had been a great help.

She considered working her way back towards them, so as to have Jameson's assistance, but instead concluded that that would be an inefficient use of time. The two guards with him would almost certainly shoot Three-Twelve if given the chance.

As Four Fifty-one left silently again Jameson returned to the panel in the wall. He hoped that she would not destroy too many emitters. They were a pain to replace.

One of the guards re-holstered his weapon and leaned against the wall with his arms crossed.

"Do you think we can trust that Bog?"

Jameson squinted as he looked back at the circuitry in the wall.

"I think the actual question is 'Do we have a choice?"

Three-Twelve pressed her back against the wall and peered around the corner. Security had reacted more quickly than she had anticipated. There had not been enough time to activate the containment fields as planned. The terminal that she had set up for the job lay just to the end of her current corridor, unfortunately close to a single security guard who would not hesitate to use his weapon.

There was no alternative that she could derive. If her program was not activated soon there would be more than one to contend with. He was positioned on the other side of the wall in the next hall down. She would only get one good shot before he used his advantage to bring her down.

She rounded the corner and walked quickly, but stoically, at an angle towards him with her weapon drawn.

He fired first, shoddily, the beam tearing into the wall behind Three-Twelve. She did not return fire. She was waiting for the best possible angle. His second shot was closer, burning her left arm and removing the clothing that covered it in a small patch.

The vantage point was now as good as she was going to get considering the circumstances. She fired once, a short burst, directly into his chest. As he slumped to the floor she could hear the pounding of feet coming down the hall. There was little time.

The panel in the wall opened at the press of her finger. It collapsed outwards revealing a program awaiting the 'GO' command which she promptly gave.

Schematics of this area of the ship popped up, showing containment fields activating all around. Normally, these fields would be used in the event of an emergency, such as decompression or damage, but they'd stop weapons fire and humanoids just as well.

When she turned around there were three security officers encircling the downed guard. One was kneeled down checking his pulse while the other two pointed their weapons at her. Finding him still alive the third stood with the rest and brought his weapon to bear.

The shields had not activated in this section yet as they should have. Perhaps there was a flaw in her program.

"Alright, stop."

The guard in the front of the group motioned for her to raise her hands with his weapon.

"Put your weapon on the floor and place your hands in the air."

Three-Twelve did not see where she had a choice, placing her phaser on the ground and putting both arms in the air. She did not have time for this. If she did not get to that Fusion Generator they were all dead. Alternatively, if they killed her they were all dead too.

"Okay, now I'm going to-"

The containment field flashed on between them, stopping his sentence short. Three-Twelve put her hands down.

"This unit will no longer comply with your commands."

She turned and began to walk down the hall away from them. In the background she could hear them shooting at the shield. It was a futile effort. She would be gone long before those emitters gave way.

Three-Twelve stopped and activated a series of commands via the implant in her arm before entering the next juncture. Her personal shielding unit activated slowly as it reconfigured itself to the set parameters: "8-8-8-9-point-9-7"

She took a step forward into the shield and it resisted, slightly fizzling as it let her through. It closed behind her instantly, returning to its previous state. She could now move freely through this part of the ship while others would have to disable each emitter individually or shut down her program. Neither was likely to happen in the short term.

Three-Twelve continued to her destination which was not far from her current position. She slowed at each juncture, moving cautiously through. If her shield collapsed while she was still inside the containment field it could kill her or otherwise damage her seriously.

After passing through the last of the shields, she moved towards the door of Fusion Generator number two. It was not only the closest one to her position, but also the most likely to grant her access. Due to the reduced personnel in Engineering and the relative location of the equipment she surmised that the security codes had not been rotated since her arrival.

She found it difficult to concentrate on pulling the proper codes out of the console. She had tried so hard to find a way around this, but she could not. There was no time to see if the implant could be removed, not that she believed that was possible. The Borg were especially thorough when it came to devices of this nature and left little room for error.

This was the only way, no matter how much she wanted it to be otherwise. This was how it was going to have to end.

Three-Twelve typed in the code for the second lock and proceeded to crack the third and final one. It had taken her three seconds less time than she had predicted to get this far, not that she was in any particular rush to finish. She had the rest of her life to get inside that room.

"Please explain your recent actions."

Three-Twelve turned slightly to see Four Fifty-one standing on the other side of the single forcefield between them. She did not stop typing, returning her focus to the door keypad.

"How did you get here so quickly?"

Four Fifty-one tested the containment field between them by tapping it before answering.

"This one used its personal shielding implant to overload the emitters of each field in its path. Respond to the query."

Three-Twelve was halfway done with this code, after which she would be able to open the door. If she could keep Four Fifty-one talking long enough, then she could carry out her plan in its entirety without hindrance. Perhaps, if she understood the necessity of this course of action she would assist, but probably not. In either case an explanation would be useful.

"I require access to this Fusion Generator."

Four Fifty-one was growing impatient. Three-Twelve was apparently stalling for time.

"This much is obvious. For what purpose?"

Three-Twelve was almost done. Just one more set of digits and she'd be through.

"This unit is a danger to this ship. It has recently generated an..."

She paused for a moment.

"...undesirable implant."

Four Fifty-one placed her hand against the forcefield and began to start the feedback routine she'd developed on her way here.

"Undesirable implant. Clarify."

"The implant is a minor explosive device. The signal this one has been tracking is a countdown timer being broadcast to an external source. We are unable to determine the exact amount of remaining time, however, this unit is sure that there is little remaining."

Four Fifty-one pressed on the shield harder. It wasn't going to drop any faster with the extra pressure, but it relieved some of the tension she was feeling. The seconds it was taking to disable the field felt like they were dragging into hours.

"Could the implant not be removed? Or disabled?"

Three-Twelve inputed the last few digits into the door, which slid open. The light was pouring out into the darkened hall creating brilliant blue snapshots as it flashed amid the dark, red light of the corridor.

"The time constraints allowed for little explanation. It was more efficient to destroy this unit without assistance. The explosive is not large by starship-to-starship weapons standards, however, if it were to detonate inside the vessel, the ship would be disabled if not destroyed. I assume that whatever Borg vessel is monitoring the countdown would then approach for assimilation."

The containment field finally gave. Four Fifty-one did not waste any time and proceeded directly towards Three-Twelve. She grabbed her by the shoulder.

"You cannot be allowed to proceed."

Three-Twelve glanced at Four Fifty-one's hand.

"This unit will use force if required."

She repeated herself.

"You cannot be allowed to proceed."

Three-Twelve considered her warning sufficient and responded with her fist to the right side of Four Fifty-one's face. She stumbled back, maintaining her grip which pulled Three-Twelve with her.

She could tell that Three-Twelve was not using her full strength. She was holding back on the force of her punches but not on the number. She was too fast. Four Fifty-one could not block the blows, much less return in kind.

Three-Twelve hit her again, and again, and again. Four Fifty-one slumped to the floor. There was reddish-black blood running down her face making her one eye completely unusable.

The final hit landed squarely in the side of Four Fifty-one's Imager forcing her head into an unpowered panel on the wall. It caved and shattered, creating a sharp cradle for her head. Her blood was almost invisible on the black panel.

The grip had weakened enough to allow Three-Twelve to wrench free. She stopped for a moment after doing so and contemplated apologizing. She did not want to do this, but she had no choice. She decided against it and headed inside. There was no time to be sorry.

Once in, Three-Twelve proceeded onto the ramp over the fusion generator. The light was so bright that it was difficult for her to aim properly. Luckily, if such a word were to be used here, she only had to land near it, not necessarily on it. When she did, she and the implant would be completely vaporized.

With little ceremony she stepped forward off the walkway. There was a brief period of weightlessness as she adjusted to having no floor underneath her. Then, when her eternity in the air ended, gravity took over and pulled her towards her last destination.

The fall was a short one, ended prematurely by a hand wrapped around her wrist. Three-Twelve looked up to see Four Fifty-one laying over the edge, holding her by the arm. She was covered in blood. It was all over her face, in her hair and running down her arm.

"You must let this unit proceed. It is the most efficient method to dispose of this weapon."

Four Fifty-one closed her eye and laid down on the metal grate. She was getting dizzy and it was all she could do to keep her grip.

"Irrelevant. Three-Twelve must not be destroyed."

Three-Twelve looked down to the generator. Like Four Fifty-one, she had no desire to destroy herself. She tried to restate her case, but it sounded less convincing than a few minutes ago.

"This unit is a danger to this ship."

Four Fifty-one's injuries were now pushing her to the point of delirium. Her blood was dripping through the grated floor and being vaporized with a sizzle when it hit the generator's energy field below.

"Irrelevant. Three-Twelve must not be de..."

She was unable to finish.

Three-Twelve swung her other arm around and pulled herself up to the walkway just as her sister's grip failed. Sitting on her perch above forever she lifted Four Fifty-one's head and inclined it by placing it in her lap. The nanoprobes were already starting to repair the damaged flesh, but medical assistance would probably still be necessary.

With Four Fifty-one's head on her leg Three-twelve leaned back against the railing and waited for security to arrive. This was not the most efficient use of her time, but for a while at least, efficiency was irrelevant.

"Well, how much time do we have?"

Three-Twelve placed the medical tricorder she had borrowed back into the cabinet and turned around to face the doctor. There were more security officers than beds in the sickbay. It seemed the whole department had turned out.

"Unknown. However, it is reasonable to speculate that we have very little."

Dr. Ti ran the scanner in his hand over the reclined and very much unconscious Four Fifty-one again. Three-Twelve's reinforced skeletal system had done a number on her. There was severe damage to much of the face, but the bulk of the reconstruction had been completed already by the nanoprobes.

"Can we operate and remove it? Maybe transport it out into space?"

Three-Twelve moved closer to the doctor. After all the trouble that the drones had caused he was still trying to save them. She was now aware of why Four Fifty-one had become so fond of him. "Unlikely. Any tampering will be detected and the weapon will be detonated. Transporting it out will most likely cause instant detonation."

Ti placed the scanner back in its cradle and moved closer to her. There had to be a way to remove or disable the device. He picked up a medical kit and started to place items into it.

"How long do you think we have between when the device is removed and when it detonates?"

She was acutely aware that any assumption was based on nothing. She had never dealt with a device of this type, and was only made aware that such a thing existed within the last week.

With the information they had gathered thus far, it was reasonable to suppose that there was a trigger delay of some kind. The device would have to signal that it had been tampered with and then told to detonate.

"This unit would estimate forty-five to sixty seconds at most."

Ti closed the case and placed it near the door.

"That might be just long enough."

The door opened and Dr. Ti took a few steps back as Captain Bellows entered the room. He was followed closely by the Klingon, K'Grat.

He nodded at the doctor, but made his way towards Three-Twelve.

"You drones have been an active irritation to me since you first stepped on this ship. You have stressed my patience well past its breaking point. So, you will be clear and you will be concise for my following questions. Am I abundantly clear?"

Three-Twelve nodded.

"Understood."

Bellows crossed his arms.

"Where is the explosive device?"

Three-Twelve pointed to the left side of her chest, near the shoulder.

"It is an implant located here."

"Yield?"

"Unknown. It will cause significant damage if detonated inside the ship."

"Recommendations?"

Three-Twelve began to speak but was cut off by Dr. Ti.

"We need to get her off the ship."

Bellows uncrossed his arms and motioned to the two security guards nearest her.

"Easy enough. You two, take her to the nearest airlock."

Ti put his hand out in a stop motion and approached the Captain.

"Well sir, we're not actually sure that it is an explosive."

"We're not?"

Ti shook his head no.

Three-Twelve was confused. She knew it was an explosive, and she was pretty sure that the doctor did as well. She attempted to correct him.

"This device is most lik-"

Ti interrupted her, and moved, placing himself between Three-Twelve and Bellows.

"No, it could be just a simple transmitting device."

Bellows leaned to one side, looking around the doctor. The drone did not seem to be protesting any further.

"If we keep standing around then I'm sure we'll find out shortly. What do we need to do?"

Ti moved towards Three-Twelve while pointing at her.

"We can take her out on a shuttle, where I can attempt to remove the device. If it's a transmitter then we can just beam it away. If not, then the ship will be fine."

Bellows laid down a forceful "No."

He looked at Three-Twelve and then back at Ti. The doctor didn't seem surprised by his response.

"We can't risk one of our few remaining medical officers on this Borg. They've caused too much damage to be given that courtesy. We'll put the drone on the shuttle alone. We'll know shortly what kind of device it is."

Ti turned back around to the Captain.

"But, we might be able to save..."

"No, doctor."

Ti got a frustrated look on his face.

"The device could possibly be removed..."

"No! And that's final. If there's a chance that the implant is something benign, then we have to give her the benefit of the doubt. However, I'm not risking more of my crew."

Bellows motioned back towards the door.

"Take her to the shuttle bay."

Two security officers, flanked by four others, walked Three-Twelve to the exit and out into the hall.

"At least let me send her off."

Bellows sighed and waved him to the door.

"Of course."

Dr. Ti headed out into the hall at a brisk pace, only stopping momentarily to retrieve the medical kit he had packed earlier.

Bellows crossed his arms as K'Grat approached him.

"I hope it's not a bomb, sir."

Bellows raised his eyebrows.

"Really?"

"Yes sir. We're running out of shuttles."

He couldn't help but smirk with the Klingon.

Dr. Ti caught up with them as they entered the shuttle bay. While he was in no particular rush the urgency of the situation had nearly forced him to run all the way from the sickbay. He tried to appear as calm as possible.

Three-Twelve was not surprised to see the doctor. She had come to realize that he had a plan of his own. Between the hastily packed case he carried and the outright lie to the Captain it was the most likely conclusion. She had also concluded that it was best not to interfere as Dr. Ti seemed best left to his own devices.

The guards led her to the shuttle nearest the bay doors while Ti stopped to catch his breath. The doors still had burn marks on them from the drone's previous encounter. She suddenly felt cold, as though ice had been pumped into her veins. It was like a long walk to a guillotine.

When they reached the back of the shuttle the doors opened revealing the inside. It was a standard Federation shuttle, clean and light gray. A small table, a little over two meters in length, jutted out from the wall. Otherwise, it was perfectly symmetrical. An efficient coffin if she had to choose one.

At the front, typing on a console, was a man in an Engineering uniform. Three-Twelve recognized him immediately.

"Jameson. What is your purpose here?"

He turned around and smiled, which instantly faded when the gravity of the situation came to him.

"I'm setting you up a pre-recorded flight plan. Figure you can just hit the button and go."

Three-Twelve approached him, leaning over to check the path Jameson had set.

"The selected path is acceptable."

Jameson almost smiled again, but kept it under control.

"I'm glad you like it."

He wanted to put his hand on her arm, but quickly thought better of it.

"I'm sorry about all this."

Three-Twelve turned her attention back to Jameson.

"Are you responsible for the creation of this implant?"

He stammered for a bit with a confused look on his face.

"What? No."

He paused for a second and repeated himself.

"What?"

"If you are not responsible for creating the implant in this unit then there is no need for an apology. Even then, an apology would not alleviate our problem."

Jameson didn't have any response, keeping his confused look. This always happened when he tried to convey any type of emotion to her. She would always come back with an odd response that threw him.

Dr. Ti entered just in time, saving them from the silence. He placed his medical kit on the table and opened it.

"Alright, one final checkup and you'll be out of here."

He turned slowly towards Jameson and motioned to the back of the shuttle with the medical tricorder in his hand.

"Go on, get out. They may be Borg but they have as much of a right to privacy as you do."

Jameson nodded to the doctor and turned quickly back to Three-Twelve. He was trying desperately to find something consoling to say.

"Well, I hope you don't... blow up."

Jameson mentally hit himself in the head. Every time he opened his mouth around her, it was always something stupid that came out.

He turned around and left, not giving her time to respond. Jameson was sure he'd done enough damage for one day.

Ti chuckled as he closed the shuttle door. He had placed the tricorder back into his case and was heading back to the front console.

"You're going to kill the poor boy."

Three-Twelve did not understand. She had done nothing to injure him in any way.

"This unit is not interested in damaging Lt. Jameson."

The doctor chuckled again and sat down at one of the two seats, examining the flight plan that the Lieutenant had put in.

"A perfectly Borg response. We can talk about you torturing members of the Engineering staff later. Right now, we need to get out of here before someone notices I'm missing."

Three-Twelve agreed. There was little, if any, time to spare.

"Affirmative."

She sat down beside the doctor, powered up the engines and waited for the USS Labra to drop out of warp. After a few seconds the stars outside slowed and she started Jameson's flight program.

Dr. Ti turned his chair towards her and pointed back to the table.

"All right, now the fun part begins."

Ti tied the tether around his waist and tugged it a bit to test for strength. There was a very good chance that this cargo rope was going to be the only thing keeping him around.

"How long can you withstand complete depressurization?"

Three-Twelve rolled her head towards the doctor. She had already laid down on the table, strapped herself in and removed the clothing around her upper-left shoulder.

"As a drone this unit could withstand up to an hour with no atmosphere. However, considering recent modifications it is unlikely that there will be more than a few minutes of consciousness before death."

Ti rocked back and forth thoughtfully as he prepared his instruments.

"That's still quite a bit longer than your average human."

She turned back to face the ceiling.

"For what purpose are you requesting this information?"

Ti laid down his tricorder and huffed.

"We're not going to be able to transport the implant out. It'll take too long and it may not work anyway. So, I'm going to remove the implant and throw it out the back hatch."

Three-Twelve said nothing so the doctor continued.

"After I've disposed of said device I'm going to give you a stimulant to wake you up. You'll need to close the hatch and get us out of here."

Three-Twelve looked back at the doctor. She noticed that her heart was racing at an incredible pace and her skin had become clammy. Perhaps the device was altering her ability to maintain body functions properly. It was best to remove it as soon as possible.

"Understood. This unit requests that we start the procedure."

Ti forced a smile that barely became more than a smirk as he picked up his injector to sedate her. She was incredibly nervous; he could tell that much. Her skin was sweaty and her hands were shaking, but she remained so composed and collected, at least on the surface. It was an impressive feat.

He put the device to her neck and pressed the release button. As her eyes closed, Ti could swear he saw a brief glimmer of fear. The same terror that every living creature feels when confronted with their own mortality. Somehow, that brief instant of weakness was comforting to the doctor. She was only human after all.

The first job was to create an incision that could be healed quickly. Once he got the implant out there was no telling how long he had before it detonated on its own. A single slice from the shoulder joint and through to the top rib would give him enough room to maneuver without having to break any bones.

He pulled his surgical cutter to the edge and sliced the skin cleanly along the line he had mentally drawn earlier. There was little blood, and only a tiny misstep when he misjudged the location of a small implant along the collar bone. Before he had realized the error, it was already self-repairing, drawing the two broken pieces together with thread-like tendrils.

Pulling back the flesh a little bit, he could finally see the demon. It was black and green, like most Borg equipment, and roughly the shape of a smoothed triangle. It looked vicious with little streaks of light proceeding down it like a set of evil eyes. It appeared that it was going to be easier to remove than he had thought. The only thing barring his way now was the small connector on its side that most likely would trigger the tampering alarm.

Using a vice-like instrument he clamped onto it and prepared for removal. Once he had it out, he had to eject it from the shuttle as quickly as he could.

With the clamps in place and the connector ready to be severed, he reached up and tapped on the console above his head. The air escaped from the shuttle with a hiss as the rear door began to open. He turned his attention back to the implant. With one quick snip he sliced the connection and pulled quickly, but steadily, on the device. It slid out of the hole he had made easily. With the wind rushing past him now, he used his cellular regenerator to patch the incision. It was a terrible job, but he could clean up the scar later if he made it through this.

The room was starting to depressurize completely now and he had been unsuccessful in breathing for at least the last twenty-five seconds or so. This was the point at which he could not stop. He pivoted and hurled the device out of the still opening doors with every bit of his strength. It spun into the darkness with it's evil eyes angrily glaring back.

Ti hit the floor and started to slide toward the rear. The atmospheric stabilizers tried desperately to re-pressurize the cabin, but were succeeding only in creating a violent wind tunnel. He pulled the second injector from his pocket and reached up onto the table. His vision was swimming, but it was just as well considering that he didn't have the strength to pull himself back up. He'd been holding what little breath he had for about a minute now, but it felt like years.

The device detonated outside in a brilliant flash, the shockwave nearly tearing his fragile grip on the bed entirely. He was pressed to the floor as the shuttle started to roll away from the explosion. The muscles were becoming more fatigued, burning as they begged for oxygen. He could feel every part of his body screaming for a single breath of fresh air.

The doctor patted around blindly on Three-Twelve looking for an exposed piece of flesh, anywhere he could inject. He finally found a place, but he couldn't be sure. He was having a hard time focusing, fading in and out of consciousness. Through the small black dots that consumed his vision, he knew he needed to press the trigger, but he couldn't remember why.

The confusion followed him as he slipped into darkness.

It was cold and quiet. The two played off each other, multiplying one another; making it colder and quieter with each second. Perhaps this was death. Freezing, silent and totally unobtrusive.

Three-Twelve opened her eyes to see the cargo straps on the ceiling of the shuttle fluttering wildly. Occasionally, she heard the rush of air past her, but otherwise the shuttle was soundless. The evidence had spoken, and she certainly wasn't dead.

Turning on her side and examining the interior of the room she could see Ti still tied to his cargo strap, completely unconscious near the rear. At the rate they were bleeding atmosphere the system would be depleted and shut down, leaving no hope for either of them.

As she unfastened the strap holding her onto the make-shift gurney, she tried to breathe involuntarily with no success. An implant in her throat had closed the windpipe to prevent lung damage. It had activated on its own which was both relieving and disturbing.

She stepped down from the table and immediately took to the console on the wall to close the rear hatch. The stars beyond were spinning slightly creating a vertigo effect for her.

The hatch closed slowly, causing the air to rush by more quickly. The move towards the front console was going to be an exercise.

Three-Twelve locked her fingers into whatever could give her a handhold and pulled herself towards the chairs at the front. Each set of steps forward was followed by a slow slide backwards making the trek less physically demanding and more frustrating.

When she reached a seat she plopped herself down in it and immediately started up Jameson's return course. The wind had subsided now that the door had sealed and the atmospheric stabilizers were beginning to calm down.

The shuttle started to right itself relative to the Labra and Three-Twelve could see out the window that the battle was already underway. It was not going well.

There were three Borg Probes and a Sphere engaged with the ship. They were taking careful steps to remain behind or to the side of the vessel. Three-Twelve knew little about Federation warships, but she was certain that this particular one had the majority of its weaponry on the fore of the ship. The Borg were taking full advantage of the situation, making considerable headway in their goal to destroy the Labra.

If there was going to be a ship for her to return to then this pattern needed to be broken.

Three-Twelve powered up the engines, raised the shields and headed towards the largest threat: the Sphere. The shuttle was only equipped with two fore phaser arrays, barely enough to make herself known. If she could get the Sphere's attention, perhaps she could move it into a more useful field of fire for the Federation vessel.

Just slightly in range, Three-Twelve fired everything she had at it. The blasts were easily stopped by the Sphere's shields, but they had the desired effect. The ship changed course immediately and headed towards the shuttle.

Now, she had to maneuver in front of the Labra and live long enough to make it seem like it was a good tactic. Besides, Four Fifty-one would be greatly displeased if she killed Ti.

The Labra caught on almost immediately and began to turn into the path of the Sphere, but not before it let a round of weapons fire towards the shuttle.

Two shots missed entirely and Three-Twelve was able to dodge the third. The fourth, however, skimmed the shuttle's side causing several panels in the cargo-hold to overload. The shields absorbed the brunt of the damage and then promptly collapsed. If the Borg hit her like that again there was no way she was going to pull out.

The Sphere's shield lit up to a blinding degree. The Labra had repositioned itself with the Borg ship directly in front of it, and they weren't holding back. Within seconds the Borg vessel had lost its shields and the Labra was dropping torpedoes directly to its hull. It did not last long.

When it exploded, the subsequent blast took out two of the accompanying probes. The third was dispatch quickly as the Federation ship came about to retrieve the shuttle.

As the Labra locked onto the ship with a tractor beam to pull it into the shuttle-bay Three-Twelve returned to the doctor. Ti was in considerably worse shape than when she had last seen him. He was bleeding from several lacerations to his head and body as well as struggling to breathe.

He was cold to the touch and frost bitten slightly on his hands and possibly elsewhere. Three-Twelve picked him up and held him, attempting to use her body heat to warm him while they waited.

The doctor briefly became conscious and looked up at Three-Twelve.

"From now on I'm staying..."

He took a few shallow breaths.

"...staying away from you."

Three-Twelve tried to look at him, but his eyes had closed.

"For what purpose?"

Ti began to lift his hand to point at her, decided it was too heavy and put it back down.

"Everyone who comes around you gets beat up."

The doctor slipped back into unconsciousness and for an instant Three-Twelve almost smiled.


	6. Chapter 6: Departure

451

Devorah Quinn

_Never knew I could feel like this ,  
Like I've never seen the sky before._

_~"Come What May"_

_**-6-**_

_Departure_

Four Fifty-one awoke in a start, sitting up on the bed stiffly. There was a haze of confusion over everything as she tried to remember where she was or what she was doing. She darted her head around, trying to get her bearings.

"Whoa there. Just calm down."

Lying in the bed next to hers was Dr. Ti. His hands and feet were covered in a clear, gelatinous substance. He was able to move his fingers, but they looked slippery and unwieldy in their grip.

"You're in sickbay. Three-Twelve did a number on you, but you pulled through just fine."

He closed his eyes.

"I'm sure she's sorry."

Four Fifty-one ran a diagnostic on her systems. The doctor's assessment was accurate. It appeared that everything was repaired properly and back in working order.

At that point she realized that Ti was in the sickbay as a patient.

"You sustained injuries?"

Ti still did not open his eyes.

"Yeah, Three-Twelve beat me up, too. Hit me with the inside of a shuttle. This though..."

He raised his hands and wiggled his fingers.

"...was all my doing."

Four Fifty-one began to recall the reason she was here. She had attempted to stop Three-Twelve from destroying herself because... because...

She could not remember why. It was because of...

"a bomb."

The doctor rolled his head over towards her and opened his eyes again.

"Oh that. We threw that out into space. Shot some Borg. I was told it was all very exciting."

The door to the sickbay slid open and Captain Bellows walked inside followed by Three-Twelve. Four Fifty-one immediately hopped off the bed and walked towards her.

"Has the implant been destroyed?"

Three-Twelve nodded and pulled down the collar of her shirt, revealing a light scar just to the side of the shoulder.

Four Fifty-one felt as though she was being lifted inside. It was difficult for her to retain her composure even though she was frozen with uncertainty. She wanted to say or do something to Three-Twelve, but she could not figure out what it was. Something to show how good it was that Three-

Twelve was still here.

She was snapped out of her confusion by Bellow's voice.

"We'll reach the L.A.F. in a few hours. At which point we will board a shuttle and transport you down. Two-Twenty will be transported afterwards as a prisoner."

L.A.F. – Four Fifty-one had heard that before, but was not able to discern its meaning.

"L.A.F. Clarify."

The Captain turned to look at her.

"Since our meetings with the Borg have become more frequent, Starfleet has been taking on more and more Liberated. In order to prepare them to live as individuals with the rest of us it was decided that special hospitals would be set up to deal with them."

He paused to take a breath.

"These are called L.A.F. or Liberated Acclimation Facilities. We'll be taking you to L.A.F.-2. They will help you adjust to living among the other sentient lifeforms of the Federation."

Three-Twelve retorted quickly.

"We do not need to adjust."

Bellows shrugged.

"Too bad. Orders are orders. Liberated are required to spend at least six months in an L.A.F. and possibly longer at the head doctor's discretion. Besides, where else are you going to go?"

Four Fifty-one had not considered this. Where exactly were they going to go? They couldn't stay here. They knew no one outside the few crew members on this ship.

The lifted feeling from earlier departed and was replaced by a cold hard spike in the center of her chest. She sat down on the bed while the others talked, their voices droned on in the background behind her own whirlwind of desolation. She was keeping her outward appearance as neutral as she could, but the fear wouldn't stop spinning in her head.

The Captain was absolutely right. They were completely alone.

It was a short ride via shuttle from the Labra to the station, but there was still enough time to investigate the surrounding space from the window beside Four Fifty-one. Peering around Dr. Ti and Captain Bellows she could see quite a ways around considering her position near the aft of the ship.

The station was broken into three wings that jutted out from the main cylindrical hull at about even 120-degree angles from the center. It looked well over a century old, as though it had been constructed when the ancient Constitution-class starships were still perusing the galaxy. Even if she was not familiar with the design, the plethora of dents and burn marks would give away its age.

The patchwork repairs made it appear as though it might fall apart at any second. She expected no less. If there was one thing she had learned the last few months it was that the Liberated were not well liked among most. Little care was probably taken in renovating the dilapidated station, bringing it up to functional status and not an iota above.

The station orbited a large red planet with an asteroid belt that encircled both. Four Fifty-one guessed that the planet was not habitable and chosen specifically for this reason. Yet another security measure beyond the transport dampeners that prevented beaming directly onto the station. Every meter closer made it feel less like a hospital and more like a prison.

The shuttle touched down inside the small bay as the hatch closed. The only exit from the room was a large door on the opposite end of the shuttle entrance. With a hiss the room re-pressurized, allowing them to exit from the shuttle into the cold hanger.

Upon leaving the small vessel, they were greeted immediately by a man and woman in white coats. The male wore a blue badge that had the word "Attendant" in bold black letters across it, while blonde female's was a bit fancier and read "Head – Dr. Rich."

The blonde woman paused in front of Ti while reaching out her hand to shake his.

"Ah, so you are Dr. Ti?"

He smiled, took her hand and shook it.

"I certainly hope so."

She smiled again and turned to Bellows.

"Captain Bellows?"

He took her hand and shook it as well.

"Yes."

The lady then turned to look at Four Fifty-one and Three-Twelve.

"And you are two of our new additions? I was told there were five."

Dr. Ti leaned forward as though he was whispering, but spoke at a normal volume.

"We lost two in an accident. The third is still onboard the ship."

The lady nodded at Ti and returned her attention to the two drones.

"Well, I'm Dr. Rich, head of this station. And you are?"

Three-Twelve responded first.

"This one is Three-Twelve. That unit is Four Fifty-one."

Dr. Rich reached up to touch Four Fifty-one's Imager, but Four Fifty-one pulled away before contact could be made.

"Oh, I'm not going to injure you, dear. Just wanted to take a look at your Imager there."

She paused for a bit and relented. Putting her hand back down.

"So, sisters? What are the odds of that?"

Since no one responded to the question Ti stepped in to fill the silence.

"Well, after examining the DNA of several recovered drones, it appears that nearly the entire cube was of one genetic makeup."

Rich cocked her head to one side, but did not take her eyes off of Four Fifty-one.

"Really? Natals and Sisters? What was the purpose of that?"

Ti shrugged.

"No idea. We destroyed the cube long before we ran the genetic tests."

Dr. Rich turned her attention to Three-Twelve.

"Huh. I'm sure we'll get plenty of time to discuss this later. For now, let's get out of this cold hanger and into a more temperature controlled environment."

She motioned towards the door with an open palm as she made her own way there.

"Darian, please make sure the quarters are ready for our three new guests."

The man beside her nodded without a word.

Four Fifty-one took a quick glance at Three-Twelve before they fell in line. She did not seem to approve of the new doctor either. Not that it mattered. This was going to be their home for the next six months whether they wanted it to be or not. They might as well get used to it.

"I suppose that a tour is in order."

Dr. Rich turned around slightly before proceeding through the door to her left. Ti, Bellows, Three-Twelve and Four Fifty-one all followed while the man that had accompanied her walked away from the group.

The hallway they walked into was connected to an atrium. It was quite a bit nicer than one would have been led to believe considering the age and state of the station. It was well-lit and covered in gray and red carpeting. But the most visually arresting part of the room lie in what was going on inside.

It was surreal. In the center was a large white statue of a horse reared up on its hind legs. Drones were gathered around it, all with canvases and paintbrushes, working dutifully on their reproduction of the statue. None of them seemed interested in the group that was observing them.

Rich stopped and pointed to the painters.

"Here we have the art room. Today we're doing still-life paintings in oil. We've found that the Liberated respond best to therapy when given artistic tasks to perform."

Four Fifty-one looked over at the drones painting to find that one had taken notice of them. A female drone with bright red hair and almost unnaturally-green eyes had stopped painting and was transfixed on her.

Her skin was as pale as most Borg were, but it did not suffer from visible veins running through it. In fact, excluding the small, star-like plate on her neck and the few visible implants on her hand, you would never be able to tell she was a Liberated.

Rich continued her walk into the next corridor and the group followed.

"Treatment usually consists of various arts and counseling. Of course, there is more to it than just that but..."

As Dr. Rich's voice trailed off Four Fifty-one started to walk away slowly. She kept her vision locked with the red-headed drone until the wall broke their line of sight. It took her much effort to turn away. Why was that drone so captivated by her?

Four Fifty-one caught up with the rest, apparently un-missed, within a few seconds. Rich was answering a question posed by Dr. Ti.

"Well, no we usually keep that kind of thing to a minimum. There are only a few rooms with regeneration nodes."

She took a step back, motioning towards an open door.

"We have classrooms as well, where we teach things like polite phrasing and the use of various utensils. Also, we focus on the histories of the different races. It is very important that in order for the former drones to get a sense of self, first they must get a sense of community."

They were at the end of a hallway now. A large door was directly behind Dr Rich covered in a series of red clamps.

Dr. Ti asked the obvious question.

"What's in there?"

Dr. Rich turned a bit, as though she were examining the door for the first time.

"This is a very old station, as you can probably tell, and about a year ago we suffered some meteor damage from the surrounding asteroid belt."

She turned towards the group and beckoned them to follow her back the way they had come.

"That wing has a lot of micro-fractures that cause a slow, incremental atmosphere leak."

Making sure that everyone was in front of him, Ti pulled out his tricorder and did a quick scan. Something was odd about this door, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it. He'd have to look over his

scans when he got back to the ship.

He slipped the device back in his belt holster and rejoined the group.

Bellows, noticing that the doctor was not with them, did a quick glance around. Finding him, the Captain put his arms behind his back and continued with the group.

"Perhaps we could assist you in sealing them?"

Rich shook her head no.

"There's a lot of them and from what I understand you've got better things to do than patch holes in this bucket."

Bellows was glad she'd declined. Not only was he pretty sure he didn't have the crew to make good on his offer, he wanted to get away from all these Borg as quickly as he could.

When they passed by the Atrium, it was empty excluding a few men in white jackets working on a console. Four Fifty-one looked around for the red-headed one, but could not find her.

Three-Twelve leaned in close.

"This unit does not see her either."

Four Fifty-one was not aware that she had been observed.

Three-Twelve continued.

"What does it want?"

Four Fifty-one shrugged.

"Unknown. Given the size of this station and the low number of occupants, it will not be long until we meet again."

Three-Twelve nodded in agreement.

The tour continued, but Four Fifty-one did not catch most of it. All she could think about was the green-eyed female with the red hair.

Ti swirled the drink in his hand. He didn't particularly want it but he wanted to seem as nonchalant as he could. He was here for information.

"A points system. That's pretty novel."

Dr. Rich turned around from the replicator with her drink in hand.

"Not particularly. Drones, by their very nature, are numbers-oriented. Just assigning points for approved behavior and taking them away as punishment is usually enough to keep them on track."

While walking back towards her desk she continued.

"And they're, for the most part, brutally honest. The majority of the drones in this complex know exactly how many points they have. We don't really have to keep track."

Rich sat down at her desk. It was strategically placed in front of a quite-literal wall of diplomas, certificates and other awards.

"Of course, every drone ends up being different. Some adjust quickly, some more slowly and some..."

She trailed off for a bit as she exhaled.

"...some not at all."

Ti pointed to the wall.

"So, being a career researcher I'm assuming that you're not taking care of these Liberated out of just the kindness of your heart."

Rich didn't bother to look back. She just smiled and leaned back in her chair.

"No, we're also here to do research on Borg technology. Dead Borg only provide so much information. The Liberated show us how their technology works in action."

Ti didn't like this at all. Surely Starfleet wouldn't condone experimenting on living things.

"And Starfleet Command approves of this?"

Dr. Rich leaned forward and placed her cup on the desk.

"Approved? It was their idea. They went out of their way to get these L.A.F.s set up. But as with most things Liberated, CORE got in the way so funding and time were cut."

Ti had heard of CORE. They were a fringe political organization "Citizens for Organic Rights and Equality". Their name was just a euphemism for a hate group that opposed just about everything that brought former Borg drones under a Federation banner.

A few years ago they had almost gotten the Liberated barred from entering Starfleet Academy. It was narrowly defeated, but these 'concerned citizens' hadn't given up their fight. When any piece of legislation showed up, you could bet that CORE was involved.

"CORE must be a lot larger than I had thought to push this kind of policy through to the council."

Rich shrugged.

"Probably not. They're as small as they ever were. Just had the right sympathizers in the right places."

Dr. Ti sighed. Two minutes in and he was already tired of politics. He tried to move the conversation in a slightly different direction.

"What kind of experiments do you do on the drones?"

Rich took a sip of her drink before answering.

"I don't really think that 'experimenting' is a fair term. Starfleet won't let us do anything invasive, however much intel it may provide. Sentient rights."

Rich almost spit those last two words out.

Ti was now certain that he was not comfortable with leaving Four Fifty-one, Two-Twenty and Three-Twelve here, but he didn't have a choice. There was no way he was going to get away with insubordination again. In fact, he was surprised that he wasn't in the brig right now.

Dr. Rich stood and motioned to the door.

"If you have no further pressing questions, I have much work to do. You've given me quite a bit of reading."

Dr. Ti forced a smile and stood with her.

"Yeah, they've been a handful since we picked them up. Getting into everything, like little kids."

Rich walked towards the door with Ti.

"I assure you they are nothing like human children."

Ti nodded and quickly headed through the door before he said something stupid. Even so, he couldn't help but grumble.

"Well they're nothing like you."

She either did not hear him or did not care since she promptly headed back to her desk and sat down with out a word.

When the door had shut on Ti she picked up the small datapad and began to read where she had left off. These three drones were an interesting combination: They were not only Natals, but also siblings. The Borg specifically grew them like this for a reason. She couldn't even fathom how a cube almost entirely comprised of the same genetic offspring could be of any use to the Collective.

"Oh yes," Rich muttered to herself, "you are going to be here for a while."

Bellows put his face in his hands. He'd been here before, and he'd probably be here again: he, Dr. Ti and Miranda arguing in the Ready Room. It was like a play that he was forced to watch over and over again.

"Now what?"

Ti leaned against the wall where he normally stood and proceeded to state his case.

"There's something going on at that L.A.F. I don't know what it is, but I recommend we investigate."

Bellows threw his hands up in exasperation.

"Investigate what? There's nothing to investigate. We drop the Borg off. We leave."

Ti continued, undaunted.

"Dr. Rich is hiding something. It has to do with whatever is behind that door."

Miranda turned to look at Ti, confusion writing across her face.

"What door?"

Ti lifted himself off the wall with a shove.

"The door with the clamps all over it."

Bellows had just about had enough of this from the doctor. Every time he turned around it was 'Borg' this and 'Liberated' that.

"Yes there is something behind that door."

Ti looked at Bellows with cautious surprise.

"There is?"

"Yes. There's an empty set of rooms with no atmosphere."

Ti crossed his arms and sighed.

Miranda moved to diffuse the situation before sarcasm turned to anger.

"Dr. Rich is a highly decorated researcher. She even chaired the Medical Ethics committee for several years. I highly doubt she's doing anything illicit."

Ti now realized that he was fighting a two-front war. If Miranda was against him, then there was no way he was going to convince the Captain.

"I scanned that door and I'll tell you what I found."

Ti popped out his tricorder and held it up for them both to see.

"I found nothing. And not empty space nothing. I mean I couldn't scan through the door."

Miranda took a quick glance at the readout as she stood.

"That could be for any number of reasons. Maybe she has it shielded so the drones with optical implants can't see through it or maybe it's a security thing."

She turned back towards Bellows.

"You have my recommendation and I have a session in a few minutes."

She headed towards the door, stopping for a moment to put her hand on Dr. Ti's shoulder.

"Sorry, Ti, I can't go along with you on this one."

Miranda slid her hand down his arm as she left him.

Bellows huffed as Dr. Ti took Miranda's seat. Its not that he didn't sympathize with the doctor, but they'd already wasted two days on a simple drop-off. They had to get to a proper Starbase before what was left of his crew started jumping out airlocks.

"I can't authorize that. Ignoring the fact that I don't even have enough crew on this ship to do an investigation, you haven't given me sufficient reason to act."

He sighed and leaned forward on the table with his hands clasped.

"Everyone knows that you're close to the Liberated we picked up, especially Four Fifty-one." Dr. Ti was confused at exactly what Bellows was implying. He was a doctor and she was a patient.

The doctor opened his mouth to retaliate. Bellows held up his hand to stop him.

"It's not a secret. I don't know what your relationship is to them, and quite frankly I don't care. I want you to know that I understand."

He put his hand down and folded them back together.

"While I don't agree with your choice of friends, I can appreciate your interest in making sure that they're safe."

Bellows pulled a pad from a stack on the corner of his desk and began to scroll through it, shaking it for emphasis.

"Now, I need you to understand and appreciate what I'm doing for you. I need you to appreciate that I've had a difficult time writing logs that don't make it look like I should bust you. Actually, if we're keeping track of infractions our next stop is a penal colony."

He smirked a bit and laid the pad down.

"I need you to understand that if I so much as suspect that you're doing an investigation on Dr. Rich I'm going to be doing a whole lot of rewriting. Am I clear?"

Ti had known Bellows for years before they had served together on this ship and he knew when the Captain had hit his limit. This was it. It was time to back down.

Ti stood slowly.

"I think you've made yourself clear."

As he started to leave Bellows stopped him once more.

"I mean it Ti."

Of that, Ti had no doubt. He nodded once slowly before heading out onto the bridge. He may not be able to save them from Dr. Rich, but he might be able to arm them.

It looked like a standoff with Bellows, Miranda, Ti and Jameson on one side and the two Liberated on the other. In some ways it was. One side had no idea what to say and the other had little more than that.

Bellows finally broke the silence.

"Well then, I suppose I'm here to officially send you off."

He held out his hand and waited for a moment.

Three-Twelve grabbed it and shook. She had learned this much was expected. However, she did not fully understand the intent.

Bellows smiled, released his grip, and headed back to the shuttle. He couldn't leave fast enough.

Miranda approached next with Jameson close behind.

She immediately went to Three-Twelve and patted her on the shoulder.

"You keep an eye on that troublesome brother of yours."

Three-Twelve pivoted slightly to address her.

"This unit will endeavor to do so."

"And you"

Miranda turned to Four Fifty-one.

"You keep an eye on both of them."

Four Fifty-one nodded silently.

Jameson approached next in his usual nervous state. Three-Twelve stood silently while he tried to pull together what he was trying to say.

"I uh..."

He paused for a second, as though he were trying to remember a long complicated sentence.

"I made this copy of 'Oh, Ankhald!' for you. I, uh, don't know if they have a player or anything. I cleared it with Dr. Rich, though."

He handed the small thumb-sized disk to Three-Twelve.

"This unit will most likely view it again."

_...and again, and again, and again_ Four Fifty-one thought.

Jameson smiled goofily.

"That's good. So, uh, you can send me a message anytime you want. I mean, it may take a few weeks to relay depending on where we are but-"

Three-Twelve cut him off.

"To send messages requires the expenditure of points."

Jameson froze.

"Right, but, you don't have-"

She cut him off again.

"This unit will consider it."

Jameson agreed, confused as to whether that meant she would or wouldn't. He backed away and looked at Dr. Ti. He was obviously waiting for everyone to finish before he approached them.

Jameson waved goodbye and headed back to the shuttle, passing Miranda who was standing at the nose.

Ti took a few steps forward while taking short glances at the ground.

"Well, I suppose that this is goodbye."

He looked at the device in his hand for a moment before holding it out to Four Fifty-one. "This is something I'm sure you'll find useful. It's just some pictures and such. You might enjoy them."

Four Fifty-one took the smooth nearly-cylindrical device. She could not take her eyes off of Ti. A slight smirk slid across his face.

"And no, I didn't clear it with Dr. Rich."

He took one more step forward, placing himself extremely close to Four Fifty-one. He wrapped his arms around her.

She returned in kind, resting her head on his shoulder. From this position she could see Miranda leaning on the side of the ship and she suddenly understood. The feeling washed like cold water over her, clearing all confusion, but leaving a hole in her center when it receded. Her inability to weep was suddenly an advantage.

Four Fifty-one knew what she wanted from Ti and she knew she could never have it. She was not fit for him. Maybe she could have been, in some other life, but not as she was or ever would be. Her heart had been ripped out and replaced with circuitry. Her mind destroyed and protocols placed in the wake. Her body torn apart and rebuilt by machines. Everything that made her what she was built the walls that forever separated them.

Four Fifty-one took one last look at Miranda. That was who he should be with. Someone like her. This husk of a human labeled Four Fifty-one had no place with him.

Ti started to release his grip but she held a little longer. She wanted to revel in this. Imagine that this was not goodbye for forever. This was only goodbye for today. To believe, if only for a second, that he felt what she needed him to feel. But there was no escaping it. She knew she had to let him go. If she cared at all for him, if she cared at all for herself, then she had to let him go.

She released him to depart with Miranda.


	7. Chapter 7: Reception

451

Devorah Quinn

_"Now lobotomy, that's chopping away part of the brain?" _

_"You're right again. You're becoming very sophisticated in the jargon. Yes; chopping away the brain. Frontal-lobe castration. I guess if she can't cut below the belt she'll do it above the eyes." _

_"You mean Ratched." _

_"I do indeed." _

_"I didn't think the nurse had the say-so on this kind of thing." _

_"She does indeed." _

_~"One Flew Over the Cukoo's Nest" Ken Kesey_

_**-7-**_

_Reception_

Four Fifty-one made every attempt to get back to her assigned room as quickly as possible. There was a small bed that extended from the wall opposite the table, and a replicator on the other. Including the tiny bathroom that was connected to it, the floor was barely large enough for three of her to stand side by side, even at her size.

She made her way towards the window on the wall, across from the door. Calling it a window was generous, since it was barely the size of her head. The trim around the edge had begun to wear away, revealing the bolts that secured it to the hull.

From here she could see out into space, though it was mostly obscured by the wide asteroid belt that ran uncomfortably close to the station. Hanging over it, the USS Labra began to come about to line up for their jump to warp.

The engines glowed ever brighter as they powered up, turning the vessel into a luminescent ball of energy. And then they released, like a five billion terawatt rubberband shooting the ship into the blackness. They left behind only a fading blue and red streak.

Four Fifty-one focused on the thin line of the warp trail until it had entirely dissipated. She wished she could just reach out and grab on, and be pulled across the galaxy with them. It seemed like all her life she had been on that ship, and to some degree that was true. Her entire life was speeding away faster than light and all she could do was sit and watch.

She took a step back, tearing herself away from the porthole to sit on the edge of the thin wall- mounted mattress that was now her bed. The handheld photoplayer that Ti had given her rolled down the newly formed indention in the bed, stopping when it hit her leg. It was slowly followed by the less her patient ID badge labeled "Blue Division – 451".

Grabbing the player, and popping it open, she found that there was about twenty or so pictures stored on the device. The first set were members of the crew including several of Ti, Miranda and Jameson. One of the pictures of Ti must have been taken before she had met him. He had much longer hair and was missing a rank pip on his collar.

The two of Miranda were unremarkable, both showing her smiling from various angles. She was not sure why these had been included. She could not imagine a situation where she would need a picture of her former counselor.

The three or so of Jameson were obviously for Three-Twelve. While they hadn't directly talked about it, Four Fifty-one was fairly certain that her sister had become quite fond of Jameson. Whether that was because she genuinely found him desirable, or that she enjoyed his botched attempts to communicate, Four Fifty-one could not tell. Perhaps it was both. Perhaps it was neither. Three-Twelve didn't ever seem interested in discussing it.

The last set of pictures were a surprise. One picture each of Two Forty-Five and Nine-Ten as well as a smattering of other drones. She didn't know why, but she found the pictures to be disconcerting. It was like looking at herself, as a corpse. As of a few months ago, she would've been totally indistinguishable from them. Another drone in a line labeled 451 of 933. They were one, but they were many. But were they family? Did it even matter?

Four Fifty-one slid past the rest of the pictures to the final one in the roll. It was a picture of a door. She recognized it instantly. It was the condemned one at the end of the curved hall. She paused on the picture, unable to determine the purpose of its inclusion.

The more she stared at it, the more she realized that there was something odd about it. It didn't seem to be right, but it wasn't obvious what was wrong. The door was sealed properly with zero-atmosphere clamps in place, and warning signs all around. It looked exactly like it was supposed to look.

She needed to examine the door more thoroughly, but she hadn't thought to record any of the tour. She had been preoccupied. Also, that area was considered off-limits to the drones. Not that such rules had stopped her before.

The door opened quickly, forcing Four Fifty-one to slap the photoplayer shut and hide it behind her back. The man in the white coat that had been with Dr. Rich when they first met was standing in the door.

He leaned in slightly, his large form peaking past the door frame in more than a few places.

"Time for implant registration and physical. Come on."

Four Fifty-one pushed the device under the top layer of covers on her bed and stood. She would have to continue this investigation later.

Four Fifty-one and Three-Twelve were herded into a small medical center not far from their quarters. It looked as though at one point in the past it had been painted white, but age and use had brought it to a dull gray. The contents of the room were unremarkable except for the array of vicious-looking devices sitting on a desk opposite a row of beds.

The large man from earlier grabbed a device from the table and began to scan the drones, starting with Four Fifty-one. She could hear him breathing heavily as he leaned close to her. She wanted to cringe away from him, but she held her ground.

He paused on her Imager for a moment.

"What's this? A scanner of some sort?"

Four Fifty-one tried not to move, tensing herself to keep from shirking away. Under the scrutiny she could feel every ugly facet of her face being examined and probed.

"No. It is a Holo-Imager. It creates, stores and analyzes 2D and 3D images."

"Huh."

The man took a step to the side, bringing him in line to look at Three-Twelve.

"Whoa. Now here's the prize of the pick. You're a Reinforced aren't you?"

Three-Twelve nodded.

"Correct. This unit is a Reinforced Tactical Drone."

He turned around to place the scanner back on the table as the door opened. Another man in a white shirt and short blonde hair stepped in. He was slightly shorter than the first, and quite a bit skinnier.

He addressed the large man with a slight wave.

"Hey Darian."

He did not wave back, but continued to fiddle with the equipment on the table.

"Hey Josh."

Darian turned around and pointed to Three-Twelve.

"Reinforced."

Josh continued up to the table and stopped in front of it.

"Really? Two in as many months?"

"Yep. 'Bout to do the implant registration. You wanna try this time?"

Josh shook his head.

"Nah. Dr. Rich says I don't take very good pictures."

Darian guffawed and pointed to the drones with the new device he was holding.

"Alright, time to disrobe. Take your picture; make you a star."

Three-Twelve did so, which was not a long task considering the clothes they were given to wear.

Four Fifty-one began to pull her shirt off, but found that her hand had frozen in place. There was nothing under those clothes that she wanted anyone to see.

She had seen pictures of attractive human females. They were all small with smooth, even skin. This, she was definitely not. While of a fairly comparable shape, her body was hairless and dead white with black veins spidering around it. She was marred with implants connected by tubes snaking around just underneath the skin. It was horrendous.

Darian thrust his head forward a bit as if he was expecting something.

"Well, come on."

Four Fifty-one shook her head.

"No."

"What do you mean, no?"

She gripped her shirt tightly to her chest.

"This one will not disrobe."

Darian reached behind his back and pulled out a small apparatus that he held like a weapon. Three-Twelve leaned forward with her hands balled into fists, as though she would have any hope of reaching him in time.

He gripped the device, thrusting it slightly towards Four Fifty-one.

"Like hell you won't."

"Whoa! Whoa! Whoa!"

Josh walked around beside him with his hands in the air as if we were surrendering for them.

"Darian, maybe she's just a little modest. We can get one of the women in here to do it for us."

Darian growled back.

"Modest, my ass. She's just being difficult. I'll be damned if I'm going to be late for lunch just because some Bog decided-"

Josh cut him off.

"You can't go around zapping people because they don't cooperate."

"First of all, they're not people. They're machines. Secondly, yes I can."

The beam from the device collapsed Four Fifty-one almost immediately, dropping her straight down to the metal floor. It didn't knock her unconscious, as she had expected, but instead left her in a strange sensory limbo. She could not see, or move, but she could feel her body hit the floor and hear Josh yell.

"What are you doing?"

Darian's voice came next.

"I'm taking care of the problem. Help me get her on the bed. And you, don't move or you're next."

Four Fifty-one could feel herself being lifted by two sets of arms, placed on a soft pad and rolled over onto her back. She tried to move, mentally kicking and screaming, but none of her limbs would so much as twitch. She could only lay still, listening and feeling everything.

Three-Twelve swirled the ice cream in the cup. Though she had not eaten much, her constant tinkering had made it look like she was well on her way to finishing. Her concentration had shifted to other topics than the raspberry-flavored dessert in front of her.

She would've preferred to eat in her room, but the replicator there only created a small range of things. To get anything other than the basics, you had to venture to the cafeteria near the center of the station.

Supposedly, this was to encourage the drones to talk to one another, but it didn't seem to have that effect. Most just stayed in their rooms and ate whatever was available from there. The ones that did make the trek here sat around in silence, eating and then disappearing. The latter she had considered

doing herself, given the level of interest she had in her selection.

Someone sat down across from her at the table. She didn't need to look up. She had a pretty good idea who it was.

Josh leaned forward a bit, trying to move himself into her field of vision.

"Hey."

Three-Twelve didn't say anything. She had nothing to say.

"I just wanted to talk about the other day. I'm sorry that things went the way they did. Darian's been working here a long time, and sometimes he can be a little extreme."

Three-Twelve seriously contemplated taking her spoon and jabbing it into his eye. He was close enough, and she had the tactical advantage. But then she'd probably be stuck in here forever, and it couldn't solve any of their current problems.

Begrudgingly, she abandoned the plan and opted for verbal warfare.

"You should not be apologizing to this unit."

Josh half-nodded as he slid back on the bench.

"Yeah, well Four Fifty-one won't talk to me."

"Then we are in agreement."

He breathed out heavily in exasperation and drummed his fingers on the table.

Three-Twelve began to get up from the table, but Josh wrapped his hand around her arm to stop her. She shot an angry glare at him.

"Remove your hand or I will take it with me."

Josh quickly let go.

"Listen, Natals usually aren't this sensitive. I tried to stop him. When she was out, we just finished the procedure. I didn't think she'd be this upset by it."

Three-Twelve set her cup back on the table and pushed the spoon down into the middle of the now melted dessert.

"Four Fifty-one said that she was still conscious during the registration."

He nodded while staring at the table.

"Yeah, the ZPRs that we use are specially modified phasers for use on L.A.F.s. Against fully organic beings, they just feel like a moderate electrical shock, but on Liberated, they shut down implants temporarily. Basically paralyzes you guys for a few minutes, especially on you Natals."

Three-Twelve looked back towards the cafeteria exit that lead to the residential section. Perhaps she should help. He seemed genuinely remorseful.

She leaned over on the table getting as close to Josh as she could.

"Clarification."

He looked up at her without moving his head, almost like a lost puppy. If this was an act, he was certainly doing a good job.

"Yes?"

"Four Fifty-one is not a forceful individual, despite her creator's intent. It is an unfortunate weakness."

Three-Twelve stood straight and turned towards the exit.

"Despite her inefficient timidness and your unwarranted actions, this unit will speak to her on your behalf. However, if there is another, similar incident, this unit will not hesitate to use the spoon."

She started back towards her quarters, confident that she had just had a very successful interpersonal interaction. Her counselor would have certainly awarded her points for it.

Josh nodded slowly, sure he had been threatened, but unsure of the nature of the threat. He yelled after her.

"Thank you."

Three-Twelve pointed back towards the ice cream cup she had left.

"Throw that away."

Josh leaned over and grabbed the cup, but found that it would not budge. The spoon had been thrust through the bottom of the container and was pinning it to the metal table. It took him several pulls to dislodge it.

_Ah. The spoon. _

Three-Twelve could feel herself sloshing from side to side, a soft hum guiding her; a slow, gentle rock back to consciousness as the world refocused itself. The humming receded, replaced with a violent whir accented by the cold hard metal underneath her.

She opened her eyes only to tightly reclose them in the light. When her ocular implants had adjusted she tried again, more slowly.

She was in a slight reclining position, like a chair that had been leaned back. Over every one of her limbs that she could see, a plethora of metal straps dug into her clothing, holding her in place. She tried to move her head forward to see down farther, but it was also rigidly anchored to whatever device she was currently occupying.

A rack consisting of several filled vials blocked the upper portion of her vision. Tubes proceeded from them down to various points along her chest and arms. All but one had some sort of colored liquid draining from them to her. She could only guess what their purpose could be.

With all her strength, she twisted her body in an attempt to break free, but she did not even budge. Her feet, the only part of her body not completely restrained, flailed helplessly somewhere beyond her sight. She tried again, by twisting in the opposite direction, but was met with the same results.

The whir began to get closer. Three-Twelve slid the back of her head as far to the side as possible, trying to see the source of the noise. A three meter tall piece of equipment with various tools sticking out at all angles slid up to the side of the chair, bumped up against it and latched into something on the floor. The top part of it leaned forward and spread, like a large boisterous flower, on every petal instruments of varying horror. The middle blossomed out revealing a large surgical laser in the final stages of charging.

Three-Twelve had to force her breathing to remain steady. She pushed back and forth on the bands that held her in the chair but still she could not so much as readjust herself, much less escape.

She gave up fighting. It was now obvious that these restraints had significant enough strength to resist whatever she could inflict on them.

The hum ceased for a second before she felt the beam tear into her stomach. It was pain like she had never felt, as though some demon had managed to fuse the feeling of a dented knife rending flesh while the wound was sealed with fire.

She would not let herself scream.

Just as suddenly as it started, it stopped. The pain continued to pulsate with her heartbeat, emanating out through her stomach and chest to her fingers and toes. Wave after wave hit her and receded. With every tide, she fought to stay awake.

The device spun, as though showing off its instruments, stopping abruptly at one that resembled a claw. It came to life with a start and reached down to where Three-Twelve could not see.

It rose a few seconds later, covered in a blackish-red blood. In its grasp it held the unmistakable form of a Borg implant, which it turned on its side and dropped into a vat sitting just within its reach.

Three-Twelve looked up to see a large four-fingered hand reach forward and tap the one empty vial that hung above her head. It began to flow again, pushing a yellow gel through the clear tube. She tried to shrink away from it, retracting herself as best she could, but there was no escaping it.

Once the yellow substance hit the injection point on the skin, her grip on consciousness began to slip again. The whir turned into a hum, the room blurred, and finally she was met with blackness once more.

Something soft pressed against her face, stifling her breath. In a panic, she pushed herself up, rising off the chair and stumbling to the floor. She tried to make it as far as possible. She could hear herself knocking things over as she scrambled away. She flew through the darkness, pushing a table to one side, collapsing it, stopping only when she met the wall.

Spinning around, Three-Twelve placed her back against it. She could feel each short, shallow breath as it forced its way out of her. She would have not breathed at all if her lungs had given her any choice. There was no telling who was listening.

Darting her head around, she realized that she recognized this area. It was her room, albeit in dire need of reorganization. In her mad dash away from the bed she had nearly leveled the place. What little she had was either broken, or lying on the floor.

The door shot open and two people in white shirts, a man and a woman, rushed in. The female ran over to her and kneeled down.

"Are you okay?"

Three-Twelve did not know how she had gotten back here. Certainly, she had not run that far.

"This unit was in a chair, in a room. There were many tools..."

She tore the clothing away from her torso and examined her stomach. There was no sign of damage.

The woman looked back at the man, who just shrugged. She hooked her arm around Three-Twelve and helped her to her feet.

"Don't worry. It was a nightmare. Let's get you back to bed."

Three-Twelve stumbled back to the bed and laid down. The woman pulled the covers over her and left with a pat on the shoulder.

After the door shut Three-Twelve could not force her eyes closed. She did not want to go back.

Four Fifty-one could see the red-haired girl from here. She was at the other end of the atrium, painting on a large canvas. Every once in a while Four Fifty-one would catch her peeking around the edge of it, and then quickly leaning back when she saw she had been noticed.

For the past four art periods over the last two weeks, they had played this game. Four Fifty-one would catch her staring, she would move to confront, and the red-haired girl would be gone. Four Fifty-one placed her paints on the edge of the easel and started to get up. This ended today.

"I have changed my name."

Two-Twenty had sat down at the easel a row in front of her and turned around in his chair. Four Fifty-one tried not to ignore him while she continued to monitor the girl.

"You-"

Her focus jumped from the girl to Two-Twenty and then back again. This was not the time for this conversation.

"You what?"

"I have changed my name."

She addressed Two-Twenty, while still keeping an eye on the area where the girl had been. She could not lose her today.

"Why?"

Two-Twenty moved in his chair slightly, blocking Four Fifty-one's line of sight to the red-haired girl. He was puffed-up with pride.

"The counselor unit advised that it would assist this one's integration. What is 451 of 933's opinion?"

She gave up. Between the conversation and Two-Twenty's bulk, she had lost her target today.

"What have you changed it to?"

"Two."

This was not much of a change. She inquired further.

"Just Two?"

"Yes."

Four Fifty-one tried again, this time with more clarity.

"Two. Expound on the reasoning."

Two paused for a moment, attempting to turn the thoughts in his head into sentences.

"This unit has observed that humans turn some designations into initializations. For example: Counselor Daniel Jaras is referred to as DJ."

Four Fifty-one finished for him.

"So, Two is an initialization of Two-Twenty."

"Yes."

Four Fifty-one nodded and crossed her arms.

"You may not have understood the purpose of the counselor's advice."

He shrank a bit in the chair, as though he'd just been deflated.

"This unit has followed the instructions."

"Yes, but the purpose was, most likely, to choose a name not related to your Borg designation, such as Mike or Steve."

Two-Twenty stared at the floor in thought. He sat there for a brief period of time and then straightened himself back up.

"This unit's name is Steve."

Four Fifty-one shook her head.

"No. You need to pick a name yourself."

"Then, this unit chooses there is someone here to see you."

Four Fifty-one looked at Two-Twenty quizzically.

"Clarify."

He pointed off to her side.

"There is someone here to see you."

Four Fifty-one turned to look and nearly hit the person standing just to her side. It was the red-haired girl holding a paint canvas covered in a cloth. She was shaking a bit, and her voice cracked slightly when she spoke.

"Uh. Hi. I-I made this for you. Took me a couple weeks, and it's not very good."

The red-haired girl held out the painting for her to take, which she did.

Taking the cloth off the top of it, Four Fifty-one spun it around to its face. What greeted her left her speechless.

In pastels, surrounded by flowers, was a poorly-drawn headshot of Four Fifty-one. She stared at it for several minutes, with her mouth agape.

Four Fifty-one looked up to the girl to thank her, as she had been taught, but found that she had taken off. She held the gift out at arm's length.

Two-Twenty stood and leaned over to get a better look at it, examining it carefully.

"It is not very good."

Four Fifty-one could not disagree more. This was the best painting ever created.

Josh sat down beside Darian in the control booth and propped his feet up on the desk in front of the surveillance monitors. Darian, with cup in hand as usual, had brought Nine's quarters up on the screen closest to him.

"Don't you ever get tired of spying on her?"

Darian chuckled. He did not take his eyes from the screen.

"Oh, I like spying on all of them, but I like spying on her the best."

Josh leaned back in the chair and nodded, as though he understood. He always felt guilty watching them in their rooms, like he was some kind of voyeur. Of course, he jumped in and checked every once in a while. That was his job. Though Darian seemed to love to watch them sleep; especially Nine. It was a bit unnerving.

"So, no one freaking out tonight?"

Darian shook his head.

"Nah, peaceful as usual. That was wild though, wasn't it? Haven't seen a Reinforced lose it in a long time. Good thing I was watchin'."

Josh widened his eyes and looked off to the side. He tried hard not to sound sarcastic.

"Yeah. Good thing."

Darian reached out and tapped a few keys on the pad in front of him, jumping the scene from Nine's bedroom to the hallway outside.

"Man, don't want to get in the way of those things. I've seen them pull up deckplate with their bare hands. Makes me nervous that we have two of them on board now."

"Two?"

Darian flipped one of the monitors to the atrium.

"These two. Eighteen and Three-Twelve."

Josh examined the image on the monitor. The two drones he'd focused in on were working on their sculptures alone, while a few orderlies stood by. Most of the base had shut down by now, gone dim and silent as they entered Night Cycle.

"Ya know, Reinforced weren't in the orientation. Didn't even know they existed 'till I came here."

Darian looked at Josh, having lost interest in the sculptures and empty hallways.

"That's just what they refer to themselves as. Reinforced isn't the 'technical' term for them."

He made quote signs in the air with his hands.

"They're called Heavy Tactical, or some such nonsense by Starfleet. I call them what I call everyone who can punch through a metal door."

Josh cocked his head to one side.

"Which is?"

"Whatever they want to be called."

Josh let out a short laugh.

"Still, be nice to have an army of those. Suppose that's why we're here."

Darian scoffed.

"Either that or wasting time and energy."

Josh gave him a look of surprise.

"Didn't think you'd be a CORE sympathizer."

"CORE? Those lunatics? Hardly."

Darian took another drink before resuming.

"On some things, CORE and I agree. They're just machines; complex, partially organic, machines. And we agree that they shouldn't be allowed into Starfleet. That's about where it ends."

Josh had no intention of arguing. From his brief stay here, he'd learned a few things. The most important, the one he'd learn on the first day, was that you don't argue with Darian. Even when he was wrong, he was right.

Darian took the silence as a queue to continue.

"But if CORE had their way, then they'd probably just vaporize the whole lot of them. And of course, shut us down. Can't be havin' either of those."

His logic definitely confused Josh.

"Why do you care if you think they're not alive?"

Realizing his cup was empty, Darian stood, headed to the replicator and selected something from the displayed list. He grabbed his new drink and headed back toward the desk slowly.

"I didn't say they weren't alive. They're obviously alive. I don't think they're sentient. At least not in the way you or I are, but they don't deserve to be killed because of it."

He sat down and tapped the keypad bringing the monitor back to Nine.

"Besides, some of them are damn cute."

Josh nodded. He couldn't argue with that.

"Considering the state of the Federation right now, don't you think that Starfleet could use the extra manpower? I mean, with wars on several fronts, Undine spies all throughout the government, seems like we'd need every able body we could get."

"Well, that's mostly a security issue. You can't have former enemies, especially native-born Bogs like those Natals we just picked up, that have joined your cause-"

There was a loud crash in the distance, cutting Darian's sentence short. He glanced at the monitors while they headed towards the door.

"Atrium."


	8. Chapter 8: Guile

451

Devorah Quinn

_All truths are easy to understand once they are discovered; the point is to discover them. _

_~Galileo Galilei_

_**-8-**_

_Guile_

Josh and Darian could hear the sounds of the devastation echoing down the halls as they approached. Most of the attendants were out as well, trying to herd the drones that had come to investigate back into their rooms. Both pulled their ZPRs out and set them to the highest stun setting.

When they rounded the corner to the atrium, they were greeted by a monumental mess. Chairs had been tossed about the place with shattered tables and various other objects strewn around. However, the cause of the damage was nowhere to be found.

Josh started to head into the room, with his weapon up, but Darian stopped him with a hand firmly gripped on on his shoulder.

"No, not yet."

As if waiting for the warning, Three-Twelve shot past them, flying backwards through the air. She landed a few meters away, rolled to a crouch and took off again in the direction she had been thrown from.

Josh stood, mouth agape, watching her weave through the destruction back towards her target: Eighteen. She was impossibly fast.

Eighteen stood, with his fist back, awaiting her return.

Josh held his hand out, and pulled his weapon back.

"Stop!"

Eighteen looked towards them and acknowledged the command. He lowered his arm and stopped.

Three-Twelve did not.

She came down on him like a cat, latching on with her legs and letting go with a flurry of punches. Eighteen fell over backwards, but she did not slow, unleashing a hailstorm on the now-defenseless drone.

Darian re-gripped his weapon and steadied his shot.

"Alright, as fun as its been, this needs to end."

He fired at Three-Twelve, connecting quite solidly in her shoulder, but she did not fall over as expected. Instead, she stood shakily, and turned towards them.

"N-no. You don't understand."

Darian fired again, hitting her in the leg. She collapsed on her knees and weakly pointed off to her side.

"They're here. Got to..."

He fired a third time, directly into her chest, dropping her face first into the broken table in front of her.

The two attendants approached slowly, one trained on Three-Twelve, the other on Eighteen. Darian gave her a quick kick, confirming that she was disabled.

"Yeah, she's out."

Eighteen rolled over and tried to stand, but found himself unable. He chose to stay on his side, facing them.

Dr. Rich approached from the hallway at the far end, moving briskly towards their position. She was still in the process of throwing on a wrap. The look on her face told Josh that this was not going to be a pleasant conversation.

"What the hell is going on?"

They just looked at each other. Josh holstered his weapon and motioned for Darian to explain.

He sighed heavily.

"Two of the drones got in a fight."

"Over what?"

He shrugged and gestured to Eighteen.

"Over what?"

Eighteen shook his head.

"Unknown. We were sculpting when the Three-Twelve unit pushed me over. I landed face down, and then she hit me with the table. I rolled over and pushed the table off, and grabbed her leg. That's when she threw me over here. I tried to throw her off but she came back."

Dr. Rich pulled a medical tricorder out of one of her pockets and scanned Three-Twelve.

"She's absolutely pumped full of adrenaline. Her adrenal implants may have malfunctioned."

She slapped the tricorder closed and headed to the computer pad on the wall.

"Computer, replay recorded video for this area, all cameras, from about ten minutes ago until now. Authorization Dr. Rich Alpha-four-eight-Beta-Gamma-five-five"

There was no response for a moment, as the ancient computer sluggishly processed the request. After a few seconds it came back with a hard, but feminine voice.

"There is currently only one working camera for this area. Play recorded video anyway?"

"Yes."

The screen flashed over, showing the two drones and the attendants behind them. It was about the same time that Darian and Josh had been watching them. The left side of the video was slightly cropped by a large column near the camera. While the adjacent hallway and most of the room could be seen, anything lying on the other side of the table from the drones was blocked.

In the video, Three-Twelve and Eighteen were silently working on their sculptures when Three-Twelve froze, staring off to the left side of the screen. She then proceeded to push Eighteen over, flip the table on top of him and head off-screen in the direction she had been looking.

She rolled back into the camera's vision just as Eighteen was pulling the table off of himself. He grabbed her as he stood, and she yelled at him.

"Release this unit!"

Three-Twelve then tore her leg from his grip and tossed him around to her side. She did a quick survey of the area, looking in the opposite direction of the drone she just threw. Apparently not finding what she wanted, she returned her focus to Eighteen.

"You're with them, aren't you?"

She took off across the room to Eighteen who took two blows from her before getting enough of a grip to heave her back the way she came.

Dr Rich paused it as soon as she heard Josh yell stop, turning around to head back to the two drones on the floor.

"Well, she's had a breakdown of some sort. Not entirely uncommon. Take them both to Solitary."

Josh raised his hand a bit like he was in a classroom asking a question.

"Who was the 'them' she was yelling about?"

Dr. Rich shrugged.

"Who knows. Probably hallucinating from an adrenaline overdose."

Josh put his hand down to help Eighteen up. Darian had already picked up Three-Twelve and thrown her over his shoulder.

"Come on, girl. Gonna spend some time in the hole."

Josh shook his head. Though he didn't know her very well, it still seemed a bit out of character for Three-Twelve. There was something awfully weird about what just happened.

The next chance he got with the surveillance console, he was going to find out what.

Four Fifty-one kept her eye near the ceiling on her trip around the curved hallway that circled the hull of the station. There were several small round ports along the way that contained cameras and she needed to count every one. Hopefully, she would only need to disable a few of them, but each was a potential hazard to her plan.

When they arrived at the station, the tour had taken them down this way and then ended at a sealed door. A door that Dr. Ti had thought important enough to hide in the images he had sent with her. That alone warranted the investigation, though she had been given more incentive recently.

She was only able to gather information second hand from Josh about Three-Twelve's behavior over the past few weeks. Apparently, she had been afflicted with nightmares and had completely lost control the other night, attacking a fellow drone. Dr. Rich had locked her away in Solitary, pending "rehabilitation" and "psychological review". Neither sounded like things that Three-Twelve would consent to willingly.

Four Fifty-one agreed with Josh's assessment, however. Something was not accurate about the explanation of events. She had only had a sister for about five months now, but she felt confident that

she knew Three-Twelve fairly well. The attack was unwarranted, and entirely contrary to her previous behavior.

The end of the hall was coming up soon. She would only have a few seconds to stop, generate a full 3D image and move on. If she stood in place too long, staring at the door, she would arouse suspicion. It would still take days, if not weeks, before she would be able to act and a delay could not be afforded.

As the door came into view, Four Fifty-one switched her Imager to the proper mode and started marking the cameras. There were only two along the corridor leading to the door and one pointing at it. Excluding her entrance and exit from the curved hallway that contained her target, that was the only camera that would record her movement. Thus, there was only one camera to disable, assuming she needed to.

It was about two and a half meters from the ground and pointed directly at the door. With a cursory glance, Four Fifty-one surmised that she could simply remove the lens cap from it. This would make it effectively near-sighted and be much easier to explain than a dead camera.

She stopped in front of the door and stared directly at it as the image was built and recorded. It seemed to take several minutes to complete, but the whole process took less than ten seconds. First, it created a grid, then a mesh, and finally it filled in all the textures. She could now reconstruct and analyze the door from any number of angles and distances elsewhere.

The instant she received the 'Complete' message, she turned and took off at a brisk pace down the corridor from where she had just come. It was all she could do to keep from falling into a dead run.

The return trip to her quarters was significantly shorter, most entirely due to her hurried gait. Once inside, she sat on the floor beside her bed, with her back to the camera that was in her room.

Since the bed jutted directly out from the wall, and had no legs attaching it to the floor, the frame itself was quite bulky. Most importantly, though, it was hollow. By carefully sliding out the metal bar holding her mattress up, she was able to retrieve the photoplayer she had hidden inside. Moving as little as possible, so as to appear to be just sitting on the floor for the camera, she popped the player open and slid to the last picture.

Using the Imager, Four Fifty-one recreated the door in her vision, rotating it to match up with the doctor's picture. Laying one over the other, Four Fifty-one could clearly see what was awry.

The clamps that covered the door had been removed and then replaced, several times. There were teeth marks from the manual cranks up and down where they had been placed. Also, a few of the clamps were not properly sealed. This door should be leaking air at a slow, but fairly noticeable rate.

Whatever was behind this door, it did not have a leak.

The vid screen flashed on, catching the attention of all the drones assembled in the room. It was supposed to be a documentary about the USS Victory and the Dominion War, which was of very little interest to Four Fifty-one. However, the presentation awarded a good number of points, something that Four Fifty-one was severely lacking. The past week she had been rather reserved, and if she did not do something of a social variety, then she might arouse suspicion.

The words 'Silence, please' appeared on the screen, which seemed to her to be a waste. An audience of Liberated were probably the least rowdy group of viewers possible. If anything, they should be encouraged to talk.

Four Fifty-one felt someone take a seat off to her right side. Drones were still filtering in and finding places on the floor. Dr. Rich purposely had the chairs removed to create a more relaxed atmosphere, but all it seemed to do was make everyone uncomfortable.

The show opened with a brief narrated history of the ship, starting at the original vessel and working its way towards the show's subject matter.

"I didn't know you liked war documentaries."

Four Fifty-one turned to find that the red-headed girl had taken a seat beside her. Even in the dim light her hair and green eyes were extremely luminescent. Her pale skin seemed only to accent the colors, providing a sharp contrast.

Four Fifty-one paused in surprise before responding.

"This one does not. However, it is worth several points."

The girl energetically shook her head.

"Yeah, me neither. My counselor told me I needed to spend less time in my room."

Four Fifty-one turned back towards the screen.

"We are supposed to be quiet."

"Oh, right."

She turned back towards the screen as well, sitting rigidly.

The movie had now officially moved into the first battle of the war. Using a variety of officer logs, captured communications and actual battle footage, it weaved a dramatic narrative. She had never given much thought to Starfleet before, but it seemed rather interesting.

"Do you like flowers?"

She turned to find that the girl had leaned over and started talking again. Four Fifty-one shrugged slightly.

"This unit has no opinion on flowering plants."

"Oh."

She looked down and back up quickly.

"I do. They're very pretty."

Turning back again, Four Fifty-one resumed watching the show. She reminded her a second time.

"We are supposed to be quiet."

The girl slinked back into her previous position.

"Sorry, forgot."

The story was lost to Four Fifty-one now. She had missed some important plot point leaving her unable to determine why the crew of the Victory was on an alien planet. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see the girl starting to lean over to say something, and then snapping back. The strained look on her face gave away the battle going on.

Four Fifty-one decided that continuing the vid was pointless. There was no possible way she was going to understand the story without restarting it from the beginning. She decided to relieve the poor girl from her torment, sliding back and looking at her.

"This one is designated Four Fifty-one."

The girl smiled and her green eyes widened considerably. She spoke loudly.

"I'm Nine!"

Like a shot, she covered her mouth and looked around. A few drones had turned to investigate, but returned to the show after finding nothing worth noting. When they had all stopped looking at her, she removed her hands from her face.

She whispered this time.

"I'm Nine."

Four Fifty-one nodded.

"As you have said."

Nine glanced away and put a finger to her bottom lip as though she were trying to think of something to say.

"Did you want to see the flowers?"

Four Fifty-one was not aware there were any plants on board this station, aside from the few that grew in the hallways as decoration. However, this venture seemed to be a loss.

"That is acceptable."

Nine lit up, her smile getting even wider than before. Her hands moved as though she were going to start clapping excitedly, but she stopped them before they had a chance to connect.

"They let me grow them in my quarters."

Nine grabbed Four Fifty-one by the hand, nearly dragging her across the floor and to the exit.

"When I get out I'm going to grow flowers. What are you going to do?"

As they exited the viewing room, Four Fifty-one looked back at the USS Victory slowly flying through a gaseous nebula.

"Perhaps that."

Nine's room was filled to the brim. Along the walls, and on top of the majority of the surfaces, various plants were lined up on display. Some were fully blossomed flowers, others looked to be little more than weeds. Most had a small tag made of a piece of torn paper that identified their type and origins. Where there wasn't a shelf of flowers, paintings clung to the walls depicting either more flowers or landscapes.

Nine cleared off a few pots that were sitting on one of the two chairs beside the table. She looked around a bit for a place to set them, but finding none, she put them on the floor in the corner.

"Sorry, don't get a lot of guests. You can sit here."

Four Fifty-one took a seat in the now-cleared chair.

"Where did you acquire these plants?"

Nine was looking for somewhere to drop the second arm load of pots she had just gotten from the next chair. She decided that beside the others in the corner was as good of a spot as she was going to find.

"There used to be a botanical garden on this station. When it was cleared out for storage, they let me have all the seeds and stuff."

She paused for a moment and then continued.

"Before I was assimilated I remember having lots of flowers. I guess having them here helps me remember I was human before..."

Nine trailed off, touching the implant on her neck.

"...before all this."

She started to pull the plants off the table and place them onto the small desk that folded out from the wall opposite the door. It was already heavily populated, but Nine managed to cram enough on to give them a controlling share of the table.

"Flowers are like people. They all need pretty much the same things to survive. Some of them are similar, some are different, but all unique."

Before sitting down, she grabbed a pot near the bathroom. She set it on the table and smiled.

"Like this one. I think this one is like you."

The flower was not very tall, the majority of its height coming from the actual flower rather than the stem. It had a series of folded petals coming out of it that looked like soft black blankets draped out to dry. Four Fifty-one could not see the resemblance.

"It is?"

Nine nodded and turned the flower around, giving her a view of the other side.

"You don't think so? I think that Iris Chrysographes fits you quite well."

Four Fifty-one did a quick survey around the room. She could not find one that was more appropriate.

"Your conclusion may be accurate."

Nine giggled and slid the flower to the side so she could see her. She placed her elbows on the table and her hands under her chin.

"Which one do you think is me?"

Four Fifty-one looked over the dozens of plants in the room. There were so many to choose from. None of them looked like a human, much less Nine.

Then, her vision landed on a red star-shaped one with a bright green stem. It was conveniently located just to the side of Nine's head. Red like her hair, star-shaped just like the implant on her neck, and a vibrant green hanging in the background. If there was a better choice, she could not see it.

Four Fifty-one pointed to the flower.

"That one."

Nine turned and grabbed it off the shelf and placed it next to the the Black Iris. She studied them for a bit.

"The Cypress Vine and the Black Iris. They look good together. Don't you think?"

Four Fifty-one examined the plants carefully with her.

"It is an acceptable combination."

Nine slid the flowers towards her.

"You can have them if you want. Something you can remember me by."

Four Fifty-one slid the Iris back.

"Then you should keep this one."

Nine smiled again.

"Okay. I'll keep this one."

They stared at each other for several moments before the loudspeaker broke the silence.

"Blue Division is starting counseling sessions. If you are in Blue Division, please report to your counselor."

Four Fifty-one stood, flower in hand.

"This one is in Blue Division. This must be dropped off before the session."

Nine stood as Four Fifty-one turned and headed out the door.

"Sure."

The door closed behind her. Nine wrapped her arms around her stomach and slumped back into the chair. She sat for several seconds, staring at the blank tabletop.

"Sure."

Four Fifty-one walked into the counselor's office and abruptly stopped. Behind the desk where her counselor normally was, Dr. Rich sat looking over a few pads she had scattered about the desk.

Rich smiled at her and motioned for her to take a seat.

"And how are you today?"

Four Fifty-one took the seat nearest the door, taking note of a few strips of metal that lay on a shelf near her. They were apparently left over from the aborted repair of a panel above them.

She sat on the side of the seat closest to the shelf, but kept her eye on Dr. Rich. She did not want to seem too conspicuous.

"Where is Counselor Jaras?"

Dr. Rich set the pad she was holding on the desk and lifted herself out of the chair.

"For today, I just wanted to talk to you myself. He'll be back for your next session."

She moved over to the chair beside Four Fifty-one and sat down again, leaning towards her.

"Adjusting to life outside the Collective is difficult enough. But Natals have it especially hard, since you have nothing to connect to from a previous life. Add to this your sister's recent problems, and I'm naturally concerned."

Four Fifty-one leaned away from the doctor, resting on the opposite arm of the chair.

"What is being done with Three-Twelve?"

"She is fine. We're keeping her slightly sedated to help counteract the effects of her malfunctioning implant. We will be attempting to repair it, and if successful, she will be back to normal."

"And if you are not?"

Dr. Rich sighed heavily.

"Then we will look for other alternatives. In either case, she will be in Solitary for a long time."

"When will this one be able to communicate with her?"

Rich shook her head and readjusted herself in the chair.

"Right now she's in a very fragile state. It may be well after the surgery."

Four Fifty-one could not grasp that at all. Three-Twelve was many things: Cold, stubborn, aggressive, but she could hardly be described as fragile. In fact, calling her fragile was probably a good way to bring out that third trait.

Dr. Rich changed the subject.

"Have you been having any nightmares lately?"

This struck Four Fifty-one as an odd question. She had not mentioned anything of the sort to anyone.

"No, this one has been sleeping well."

The doctor reached over to her desk and pulled a pad off of it. She tapped it twice, scrolled a bit, and then looked back at Four Fifty-one.

"And we need to work on that as well. Use the 'I', 'me' and 'my' pronouns when you speak. That's one of the major steps towards getting out of here. And you _do_ want to get out of here, don't you?"

The doctor had no idea how much Four Fifty-one desired escape from this prison. She would grab Three-Twelve, and send this place up in smoke if she were able. There was nothing she wanted more.

"Yes, this unit does."

She immediately corrected herself.

"Yes, I do."

Dr. Rich smiled.

"Good."

Standing up, she strolled around the desk and started to gather her datapads.

"Well, that's all I wanted to talk about with you today."

Four Fifty-one stood and began to make her way towards the exit. She stopped short, leaning on the shelf for support. She could hear the doctor behind her.

"Are you okay?"

Four Fifty-one nodded, while righting herself.

"This one-"

She restarted.

"I am fine."

She headed out the door and down the hall towards the cafeteria. Now, everything was in place for her to look at the door in detail. While she probably wasn't going to get the thing open, she at least had a method for investigating it thoroughly.

Moving the sharp metal shard from her hand to the nearest pocket, she began to make the final preparations in her head.

Tonight she would test her guile.

Josh rewound the video and started again. He'd been at this for hours now and still hadn't found anything worthwhile. He was beginning to think that Dr. Rich was right, and there was nothing in this video but a half-crazed drone tearing up a room.

Everything happened in the same order: Three-Twelve pushes Eighteen. Flips table over. Runs off-screen to the left. Rolls back on-screen. Gets grabbed by Eighteen. Makes threats. Fights the other drone. He must have watched this a thousand times. He wished as he had a hundred times before, that he had some better video view equipment, or something that wasn't obsolete by several decades.

He hit the keypad with his fist, causing the image to freeze. Laying down on his arm like a pillow, he examined the screen. There was nothing to see. If it wasn't for that column blocking out the other end of the table, as well as the left part of the display, he might be able to see what she was looking at. If she was looking at anything, that is.

The frame it had frozen on was after she'd pushed Eighteen over and just before the table was tossed. She was moving back to a defensive stance. Her hand did not appear to be touching it.

Josh shot up and played the next second of footage. The table flipped and Three-Twelve stepped back before charging forward. He backed up the video two seconds, placing him at the point where she pushed over Eighteen.

Putting the playback in slow motion, he watched as Three-Twelve pushed Eighteen over, set her hand on the table, and then removed it as it cartwheeled over onto the drone. He paused and zoomed in, making her hand take up the entire screen.

Josh proceeded through, one frame at a time. Her fingers lost contact with the table, then a whole seventeen frames later, it spun towards them.

He zoomed back out and placed his own hand on the left side of the screen, lining it up like he was going to flick the table himself. He pressed play, and the video started again, in slow motion, from the point where Three-Twelve threw Eighteen over.

Closing one eye, he mimed as though he was hitting the section of the table that was off-screen with his middle finger, tossing it over. It was a perfect match. Playing it at normal speed, however, produced the effect that she had spun the table herself.

Three-Twelve was not even touching the table when it flipped. Even if she was, the table was lifted from the opposite end. This was extremely good evidence that there was another person with them in the room. Someone who was not only strong enough to lift the table single-handedly, but was also threatened enough by being discovered to throw furniture at them in an attempt to escape.

Josh rerecorded the past few minutes of detective work, so he could show Dr. Rich. This should be enough to vindicate Three-Twelve.

He took off out the door towards Rich's room. It was a long trip, by this station's standards, all the way across the atrium and down past the computer library. He tried not to run, but this was big news; easily the most exciting thing that had happened to him since he got here.

Stopping at the room marked 'Commander's Quarters', which Rich had claimed as her own, he pressed the button on the side of the door. In the distance he could hear the muffled door chime.

There was no answer. He tried again.

No answer. He hit the button a third time.

The door flew open and a very tired looking Dr. Rich stood with her night-gown on and one hand on her face.

"What? What do you want?"

"I have evidence that Three-Twelve may not have been seeing things."

Rich dropped her hand from her face.

"Really?"

Josh nodded.

"Really."

She stood aside and motioned for him to come in.

"Well, then this deserves a look."

Four Fifty-one was so busy painting with Nine that she had entirely lost track of time. Since they had met, they had been spending nearly every waking moment together. It was impossible to shake her off.

Not that Four Fifty-one desired any such thing. It was nice to have someone who wasn't related to her take an interest. Nine was a welcome, maybe needed, break to the monotonous loneliness that seemed to pervade everything on this station.

Four Fifty-one stopped in her quarters just long enough to grab the piece of metal she had taken from the counselor's room. She fought hard to control her gait, keeping herself as calm as possible as she headed out the door and down the hallway.

Since she had arrived here, she had taken these evening strolls to determine when and how the attendants made their rounds. Every two weeks, there was a break of thirty minutes between shifts just as the night group came in. Four Fifty-one hoped that this lapse in coverage would give her the time she needed to finish examining the door.

Rounding the last corner, she slid the metal piece between her pointer and middle fingers, and lined herself up so she would walk directly past the camera. If the path routed by her Imager was correct, she could simply hold up the metal piece at exactly 1cm from the wall and 1.78m from the ground. When she overtook it, the lens cap would be popped off without any video evidence that it was malicious.

She closed in on the surveillance equipment, holding her blade rigidly at the height and distance prescribed. She wiggled it a bit up and down, giving the impression that she was scratching the top of her head.

The metal connected, resisted and then gave. She could not afford a look to see if the camera was properly disabled, but the sound of thin plastic bouncing off the wall and to the floor gave some assurance that the scheme had worked.

She slid the metal into her pocket and approached the door. She had to hurry. The Imager's timer already put her a few minutes behind schedule. If she had the codes to the locks, this would be a quick fifteen-second job. However, all of them were coded, meaning she would have to break each lock's code separately.

She pulled the clamps off, which was a long, but not difficult, task. They had been removed many times and left considerable evidence that they were merely decorative. She marked their locations and piled them in the corner quietly.

There were three locks which took considerably longer, as she had feared. These held the edges of the doors in place should the clamps fail. They were actually engaged but in dire need of a more difficult security coding method.

They disengaged with a clunk, causing Four Fifty-one to freeze and look about slowly. Assured that she had not aroused any suspicion, she continued. There was only one left to go, of which she had no information, and only five minutes to break.

The last locking mechanism was located inside the panel on the door frame. Sliding the cover off and placing it on the floor, she could see that it was going to be far more complicated than she had envisioned. The security system that held the door closed was not of Federation design.

There appeared to be two parts to it, the actual security lock and the interface. She couldn't see the lock directly, but the interface appeared to be requesting a series of five symbols. Reaching down into it and scrolling through the options, it became clear that this was an alien device of some kind. But more strangely, the device was also slightly moist and gave of a faint bit of heat.

Footsteps.

Four Fifty-one retracted her arm quickly and placed the panel back on the wall.

She moved as fast and as silently as she could, slapping the locks back on and re-engaging the security codes. The footsteps were now dangerously close and followed by clear voices.

"Well, I'm just saying that Darian is a little, well, off. I'm not saying he's a mass murderer or anything."

One clamp... Two clamps...

Four Fifty-one spun the handle on the last clamp into place just as the two orderlies came into view. They stopped, and then picked up their pace towards her, shouting.

"Hey! What are you doing over here? This is off-limits."

She was in a crouching position, right in front of the last clamp. She had to respond quickly.

"This one..."

She corrected herself, which also bought her some thinking time.

"I am not feeling well. I took a walk and now I do not believe this one can make it back to their quarters."

She did not look up, but she could hear one of them huff.

"Alright, let's get you back. Do you need to go to the infirmary?"

Four Fifty-one accepted the assistance of one of the attendants.

"This one does not believe so."

As they helped her down the hallway to her room, she started replaying her examination of the door lock with her Imager. As far as her limited knowledge of Starfleet building specifications went, that alien device had no business being on this station.

Before tonight, she had assumed that something odd was going on here, but now, she was sure that it was far beyond 'odd'. It had easily moved into the territory of sinister.


	9. Chapter 9: Masquerade

451

Devorah Quinn

_mas·quer·ade – noun _

_1. false outward appearance; façade _

_2. An activity performed under false pretenses_

_**-9-**_

_Masquerade_

Josh's trip was a short one. He'd cut across to the hallway behind the old armory. Ever since Dr. Rich had discovered that he had some Starfleet training they'd designated him as the psuedo Chief Engineer of the station. He only had a year at the academy, but that was more than most here. He was supposed to transfer into the Corp of Engineers, but like most things in his life, that'd fallen apart. Now, he was doing the exact thing that he left the Academy to avoid, but without the prestige.

He approached the door, examining the wall for the camera hole. They were usually located a little more than a meter off the ground along the left side. Finding it, he stopped to look at the cradle where the camera was supposed to be.

The camera was mostly intact, except for what looked to be the forceful removal of the lens cap. It appeared to have been sheered off with a blunt cutting instrument. He could probably watch the logs of this area and see how it happened.

He shrugged to himself.

"Eh."

That sounded like more to do, and he'd done enough detective work for one week. Maybe he'd give it a look when he got back. Maybe not.

Josh looked at the door with all the red clamps on it. It'd been sealed since he got here, but it never did seem to sit quite right with him. If what the doctor had told them was true, then that thing was a death trap. If the locks cracked, then most of the station would be depressurized.

He turned back to his work, releasing the lever that held the camera in the slot. It popped out and fell to the ground. In reaching down to grab the broken equipment, his hand slid down the wall, almost hitting the general alarm panel. That would've set off sirens all over the base, and then he'd have some serious explaining to do.

It was a surprise that the drones didn't set these off more often. They were always in precarious places, and required only a touch to activate. But then again, drones were incredibly exact in their movements and rarely went around running into things. Compared to the Liberated, the attendants on the station were bumbling gorillas. Perhaps it was more surprising that the staff didn't set them off.

Being more careful, he retrieved the camera and placed it in his bag. Beside it was the lenscap, which he grabbed as well. It was definitely torn from the camera with some pressure. Whatever hit it, hit it hard.

He dropped the piece of clear material into the bag with its friend, took the replacement part out of the side pocket and snapped it into the open port. After a bit of adjustment, it snapped into place.

Pulling the mobile surveillance monitor out of his bag, Josh cycled through the cameras until he came to the one in front of him. All he could see was his shoulder.

He backed up, giving him full view of the door. It was open.

Josh spun around, looking into the silhouetted frame of a very large, very alien creature. He turned to run, but it was too fast, wrapping its large hands around his leg and pulling him across the ground.

He grasped wildly at any object that would accept his grip. The only thing within reach was his bag, which offered no assistance, sliding along the floor with him.

Josh screamed, but the door had already shut.

Four Fifty-one pushed the mashed potatoes to one side of her plate, and then back to the other. She had been doing this for several minutes before Two-Twenty joined her. He set his plate on the table across from her and sat down.

"How are you today?"

Deciding that her food had been properly animated for the day, she stopped, dropping the spoon into the potatoes.

"This one is not well."

Two-Twenty paused for a bit and glanced down at the table. When he looked back up, he leaned forward slightly.

"The counselor did not tell this unit what to say to that response. Most just say 'Fine' or 'Okay'."

She nodded and propped her head on her arm. She took the reminder to start using her pronouns properly.

"You could try to ask me why I'm upset, though that may not yield much."

Two-Twenty leaned back, and repeated.

"Why are I upset?"

He got a confused look on his face, and then he restarted.

"Why are you upset?"

Four Fifty-one slid her plate to one side and folded her hands.

"I am worried about Three-Twelve."

"This unit is sure all is well. Dr. Rich and the others only want to help us."

Four Fifty-one figured as much. She probably shouldn't have said anything.

"Maybe you are right."

Two-Twenty nodded affirmatively.

"This one is confident she is well."

Josh joined them at the table, smiling as he took a seat beside Two-Twenty.

"So, how are my favorite drones?"

Four Fifty-one looked at Two-Twenty and then back to Josh.

"We are..."

It took her a second to complete the sentence, which almost ended as a question.

"...fine."

Josh maintained his smile looking back and forth between the two.

"Oh, hey. I looked at that video for hours the other night, couldn't find a single thing."

Four Fifty-one slumped slightly forward onto the table.

"That is unfortunate."

Josh nodded.

"Yeah, I thought I found something once, but after talking it over with Dr. Rich, it turned out to be just a recording anomaly. Sorry, girl, but you're going to have to find some other way to prove that Three-Twelve hasn't lost it."

He dropped his smile almost immediately upon completing the sentence.

"Well, my shift starts here in a bit. I just wanted to drop by and deliver the news since I hadn't seen you in a couple of days."

Josh stood, slapping Two-Twenty on the back.

After he had left, Four Fifty-one turned back to Two-Twenty. He had the same look in his eyes as she did.

"That was strange."

She stared at the table, tapping it.

"His vocabulary has changed considerably in the past few days."

Two-Twenty agreed.

"And he smells different."

She looked back at him.

"He smells different?"

Two-Twenty tapped the small device on the side of his head.

"This one detected a faint hydrocarbon in his presence that we have not sensed previously."

"What does that mean?"

Two-Twenty shrugged.

"Possibly nothing. Hydrocarbons are used in many things."

Nine leaned in the door on the other side of the cafeteria and motioned for Four Fifty-one to come.

Four Fifty-one stood, pausing briefly to close the conversation how she had been taught.

"It has been a pleasure, but I must leave."

She headed towards Nine, following her out the door.

Two-Twenty looked around at his deserted table and readjusted the plate in front of him. He took a heap of potatoes in his fork, and addressed them.

"Goodbye."

Four Fifty-one pressed the last nutrition capsule into the soil and pushed the plant aside. As per usual, Nine was prattling on about her day. It was amazing that so little could happen on this station, but she could always turn it into a startlingly long narrative.

"...and so that's when I told Josh he said he liked the blue one before. I mean, how could you forget something like that?"

Four Fifty-one rearranged the shared pile of capsules on the table.

"This one does not know."

"Yeah, me neither. Alright, so we're done with these for this week."

Nine set the last plant to the side and pulled out her little shovel.

"Now to the big ones."

They both headed over to the two tree-like plants in the corner, kneeling in front of them. Nine handed Four Fifty-one a small spade of her own.

"With these, you have to dig in deep, but make sure you don't hit the roots."

Four Fifty-one started to dig as well, on the other large plant, trying to follow her lead as best as she could.

Nine shook her head.

"No, like this."

Planting her shovel in the dirt of her pot, Nine reached over to help Four Fifty-one. She wrapped her fingers around the visible part of the shovel handle, slowly bringing it to a stop.

"Like this, up and over. That way it aerates properly."

Nine continued to hold Four Fifty-one's hands as she moved in the way she had been instructed. Nine's green eyes were focused on their shared activity, guiding the shovel up and over.

Four Fifty-one focused on it as well, attempting to determine what was mesmerizing her so.

"Is this better?"

"Yes. This is much better."

Nine suddenly seemed to snap back to reality, pulling her hands quickly away.

"You are-"

She used one of her fingers to push a loose hair behind her ear while her other hand fumbled for the spade.

"-doing much better."

Four Fifty-one sighed, and stopped digging for a second.

"There is something wrong here."

Nine jolted her gaze to her.

"What? What's wrong? I'm sorry about that; I didn't mean anything."

"On this station."

Four Fifty-one looked at her, confused.

"You're sorry about what?"

Nine turned back to her dirt, shakily plowing away.

"N-Nothing. What's wrong?"

Four Fifty-one paused for a moment before continuing, trying to find the meaning behind Nine's outburst.

"This unit believes that there is something wrong on this station."

"Oh, the station. What's wrong with it?"

She shook her head.

"Unknown. However, I believe that we are all in danger, especially Three-Twelve."

Nine continued to work the soil, not looking up at Four Fifty-one.

"What are you going to do?"

"Again, unknown. This one will be attempting to break her out of solitary in the next couple of days."

Nine stopped and slowly looked back at Four Fifty-one.

"But not tonight, right? The second vid room is going to be open tonight."

Four Fifty-one cracked a small smile at Nine, a feat of which she did not believe she was capable. It was endearing how in the midst of what she was telling her, Nine was still concerned about something as trivial as their plans for that night.

"No, not tonight."

Nine smiled back, visibly relieved.

"Good."

Four Fifty-one turned back to shoveling, following the method that she had been shown previously. What she was going to do after she got Three-Twelve, however, was still undecided. She'd have to deal with that later. Her sister needed help, along with possibly everyone else on this station.

Nine took a seat on the floor next to Four Fifty-one, treating the corner of the room like a makeshift chair. The lack of actual chairs had made the wall and each other the only means of support. Once comfortable, she rested her head on Four Fifty-one's shoulder, waiting for the blackness of the room to be replaced by the vid's light.

As had become their custom for the last week or so, they would lock themselves in one of the unoccupied viewing rooms and watch a few episodes of Three-Twelve's 'Oh! Ankhald!' It would not have been their first choice, but the attendants kept the other vids secured in the computer library. It would most likely be frowned upon, though if no one knew, then no one could stop them.

The whole place lit up as the title screen appeared, along with a long series of general vid information. Nine readjusted herself and started talking. She always talked through the whole show unless something exciting was happening.

"So, you think Ankhald is going to find her this episode?"

"No. That would defeat the purpose of the series."

Nine nodded slightly.

"Yeah, guess you're right. Still, I like to think he will. He tries so hard."

She paused for a moment, listening to the narration. After it had stopped, she started up again.

"Who's your favorite character?"

Four Fifty-one shrugged. She didn't have a favorite character, but she did quite enjoy when Ankhald's attractive friend Taras came on the screen. He rarely showed up, but she always enjoyed looking at him when he did.

"I suppose Taras."

Nine moved her right arm back behind Four Fifty-one, forcing her to move slightly to make room.

"Yeah, he's nice. Puts up with a lot of Ankhald's nonsense. I mean, he's going to a lot of work for this one girl, and Taras is always helping him out."

Four Fifty-one agreed.

"Ankhald is very dedicated to Lois."

"Yeah, she's really pretty, too. I can't blame him."

Four Fifty-one nodded in agreement, though she didn't entirely. She'd much prefer that Lois was traipsing around the universe looking for Taras, so they got to see him more. However, in the realm of females she had been exposed to, Lois seemed as attractive as any.

"Do you think I'm pretty?"

Nine had pivoted her head on Four Fifty-one's shoulder so she was looking up at her.

Of that, she had little doubt. Especially in her current pose. Nine's big green eyes created a blazing background behind her little straight locks of red hair, framed in a perfectly smooth symmetrical face. She was exactly what every description of beauty said you should be.

Not that she needed that for a comparison anyway. If the actions of the male orderlies on this station were any indication, then she was definitely considered attractive.

"Yes."

Nine smiled, making the previous affirmation all the more obvious.

"I think you're pretty, too."

"Thank you, though your assessment may be inaccurate."

Nine's smile faded. She sat up and placed her hand on Four Fifty-one's cheek, turning her head so they were looking at each other. She reached up with her other hand and lightly held the viewfinder to her Imager.

"Can I take this off?"

Four Fifty-one looked at her, confused.

"For what purpose?"

"I just want it off."

Four Fifty-one looked away and then slowly came back into eye contact.

"If you wish."

Pushing in on the two tabs and turning, Nine slid the Imager piece off and placed it on the floor.

Underneath was more circuitry, as well as an optical sensor right in the center. The device spun in concentric circles as it attempted to adjust the photonic lenses that were no longer attached. But now, her Imager no longer stuck out from her face, bringing it in line with the bridge of her nose.

Nine smiled again.

"I think you're beautiful."

She turned her head sideways and leaned in, connecting their lips.

Four Fifty-one placed her hand on Nine's shoulder and started to push her back. She stopped short of following through as Nine wrapped her hands around her waist and pressed harder.

She was sure that Nine wanted something that she couldn't give her, but the contact felt so good. It felt so honest.

Nine wasn't touching her because she was examining her. She wasn't touching her because she was a prisoner in custody, or an inmate being corralled. Nine was touching her because she wanted to. And in the end, that's all she wanted.

Even though it was a lie to both of them, Four Fifty-one could forgive herself. She could forgive herself for pressing the kiss back. She could forgive herself for swathing her fingers in Nine's hair. She could forgive herself everything.

Nine was on top of her now, pulling away only long enough to gasp for breath and return, but who it was remained irrelevant. This person wanted to touch her like she was real, awake, alive and maybe even human. And for that, she could afford them both that little white unspoken lie.

Four Fifty-one hugged the wall as she walked down the hall, putting herself in the cameras' blind spot for the majority of the journey. By moving through the back halls, past the comm room and the old armory, she was able to avoid most of the surveillance equipment altogether.

This was probably the worst thought-out plan she'd implemented thus far. She had no idea exactly where solitary was, how it was guarded or where she was going to go from there, but she was tired of waiting. She had to do something – anything.

If she'd memorized the shift change properly before, then the hallway where Three-Twelve was most likely being held would be vacant for about ten to fifteen minutes. She hoped that would give her enough time to pull her out and go.

The camera watching the last corridor was perched over the door she needed to enter. Using her Imager to get a better look at it, she could see the tiny lens inside scanning from left to right slowly. If she slid down the wall at the right time, she should be able to get to the door without being seen. It would be a matter of absolutely critical timing.

A hand landed on her shoulder.

Four Fifty-one spun around to find Nine standing behind her.

"It's just me, silly. I brought what you asked me to."

She held up a small badge with Darian's picture and name on it.

"I had to do a bit of work to get a hold of it."

Four Fifty-one looked at her, accusingly. Nine narrowed her eyes.

"Don't look at me like that. I didn't do anything bad."

She placed the back of her hand against her head like Lois did when delivering a line to Ankhald.

"Besides, you're the only one for me."

Nine smiled and kissed her on the cheek.

Four Fifty-one exhaled slowly.

"This-"

She started to protest Nine's continued involvement but stopped, taking the badge from her.

"We must time our movements precisely. Stay close."

Nine grabbed her free hand and held on.

Four Fifty-one turned back to the corridor, leaning over to see the camera again. As it turned away, she started to walk briskly down the hall.

"Now."

When they arrived at the door, she swiped the badge and darted in, leading Nine in behind her.

The room was dead dark, the only light coming from a few lit panels on the wall. There was also a faint illumination coming from each of the four windowed doors on the opposite side.

Four Fifty-one headed to the first door on the right and peered in, but was unable to see anyone. Nine let go of her hand and went to the other side, checking the door farthest from them.

Nine tapped the glass and leaned back slightly from the fourth door.

"She's here."

Four Fifty-one quickly joined her and looked in the window. It was definitely Three-Twelve, sprawled across a dirty mattress. She swiped the badge, which opened the door with a loud "clunk".

Nine looked around, eyes wide.

"You think they heard that?"

Four Fifty-one shrugged before heading in.

"Possibly."

She kneeled down beside the unkempt bed that Three-Twelve was slung across. Putting her hand on her sister's face, she rolled her head towards them.

Three-Twelve's eyes opened slightly.

"Four..."

She licked her lips and continued.

"Four Fifty-one?"

Four Fifty-one nodded.

"Yes."

Three-Twelve reached her hand up and touched her sister's face.

"Are you sure?"

Four Fifty-one was confused by the question, but affirmed it anyway.

"Yes. This one is Four Fifty-one. We have to get you out of here."

Three-Twelve dropped her hand back to the bed. She shook her head weakly.

"No. Too close. Come back later."

Nine had crouched down beside them, taking an interest in the conversation, leaning on Four Fifty-one.

"Too close to what?"

Three-Twelve pointed to the door.

"Too close to having the whole thing."

Nine and Four Fifty-one looked at each other and then back to Three-Twelve. She had passed back out. Nine grabbed her arm.

"Well, we have to get her out of here before they come."

Four Fifty-one held out her hand to stop her.

"We cannot."

"What? We came all this way and you're going to just leave her because she asked you to? She's obviously delirious from whatever drugs they've got her on."

Four Fifty-one stood and headed back out the cell door, into the dark room with Nine following.

She swiped the badge, closing the door.

Nine pointed back towards Three-Twelve while looking at Four Fifty-one walking away.

"But, you said she was in danger. We can't leave her here."

Four Fifty-one stopped, turned and stormed back towards Nine.

"Do you think I want to leave her here? If she says she needs to stay then she STAYS."

Nine had covered her mouth with her hands. Her eyes were wide, tears forming at the bottom of them.

Four Fifty-one lowered her voice back to a whisper.

"I'll return in a few weeks, and then she'll come whether she wants to or not."

She spun the badge in her hand and headed back towards the entrance.

"Come, we have only a few minutes to vacate the area."

Four Fifty-one stopped in the doorway to her quarters, placing her and Nine just outside the range of both of the cameras in the halls and the one in the room. She grabbed Nine's hand, slipping the badge into it, which was quickly deposited into a pocket.

"This one..."

She started over.

"I am sorry that I yelled at you."

Nine gave a weak smile, wrapped her arms around Four Fifty-one's waist and placed her head on her chest.

"I know. You care a lot about your sister."

She took in and let out a deep breath.

"Kinda makes me wish I had one."

Four Fifty-one slid one arm over her back.

"You have no family?"

Nine started to shake her head but decided not to.

"No. I was the only one that survived, if you could call it that."

She turned her head up to where her chin was resting on the collarbone.

"Seven years later, here I am. Compared to you though, that was just a field trip to the Collective."

Nine laid her head back down.

"But you have family, and I don't. Weird how that works out, huh?"

Four Fifty-one did not respond. She was desperately trying to enjoy the moment, but she could not stop thinking about her sister. She was abandoned on that dirty cot, locked away, but unwilling to leave.

She rubbed her hand up and down Nine's back. If there was one thing good that had come out of this whole nightmarish affair, she was holding it.

She released Nine.

"You should return that badge and go back to your quarters before it gets too late."

Nine let go as well.

"Probably should. I have to meet with my counselor tomorrow morning. My six months are up next week and I'll be having a diagnosis to see if I can leave."

Four Fifty-one smiled at Nine and squeezed her shoulder.

"I'm sure you'll do fine. You're more human than anyone else here."

Nine leaned in and grabbed a quick kiss.

"I could say the same about you."

As she walked away, Four Fifty-one turned and took a few steps into her room towards the bathroom to get a cup of water. The red star-shaped flower sat at the center of her table and had yet to be fed today. The plant had been looking sicker and sicker for the past week and nothing that she did seemed to have any effect.

She poured the water in the pot and placed a nutritional supplement in the soil. It was probably a wasted gesture, but she knew of nothing else to do with it.

Laying down on her bed, Four Fifty-one rolled over so she could see the flower in its place on the table. It never asked anything except for time and attention, and it freely gave her everything worth having. Perhaps she could nurture it back; bring it back to life if she just willed it hard enough.

But in the end she knew this was a lie. The end of this masquerade would be coming soon, and it would drag them both into a mire of her creation. That flower was going to slowly wilt in front of her, and there was nothing she could do to save it.


	10. Chapter 10: Battlefield

451

Devorah Quinn

_The rules of fair play do not apply in love and war._

_~'Euphues' John Lyly  
(1578)_

_**-10-**_

_Battlefield_

Four Fifty-one turned the monitor on her table away from the bed where Nine was napping. She had gone to sleep as she usually did, right after eating lunch. As spontaneous and impulsive as she could be, some things Nine did were just like clockwork.

An 'Establishing Connection' message came on the screen as Four Fifty-one waited. Though she'd not been informed where the subspace transmission came from, she was fairly certain she knew who it was.

"Dr. Ti."

The smiling man now on the screen was indeed the doctor, though dressed down considerably.

"Hey, Four Fifty-one! How are you?"

"I am fine, and you?"

He pointed at her.

"Small talk, down. Personal pronouns, down. You'll be out of there in no time. And I'm doing alright, thank you."

He readjusted his shirt and leaned forward, into the camera. It was hard to move out of pleasantries when they both knew their communication was being monitored.

"So, just thought I'd check in and see how you were doing. We're on a bit of shore-leave here while we acquire some more personnel. I swear, it's like we're a new ship. Been flying around the past four months picking up crew all over the place."

He stopped, and his face became solemn for an instant before he continued.

"But enough about my escapades, what are you guys doing there? Found any cute Liberated boys?"

Four Fifty-one gave a quick glance to Nine and then back to the screen.

"Something like that, yes."

Ti clapped his hands once while letting out a short laugh.

"Ah, I knew you would. A pretty woman like you, absolutely."

He leaned back on the desk, looking off to the side.

"Speaking of girls and boys, Jameson says that he has stopped receiving correspondence from Three-Twelve. I talked to Dr. Rich and she said that she had been detained."

Four Fifty-one nodded.

"Yes, Three-Twelve got into an altercation with another drone."

"Sounds like her, doesn't it?"

Four Fifty-one silently gritted her teeth.

"Yes."

"Have you decided what you're going to do when you get out?"

She shook her head no, but then changed her mind about the response.

"Starfleet."

Ti got a look of surprise on his face.

"Really? You are aware that it's on Earth, right?"

"Yes, I believe that my skills would be best suited for that environment."

The doctor bobbed his head back and forth for a bit, thinking.

"Well, there's admission. Then you have to pass the entrance exam. Then there's preparatory classes and such."

He reached over and picked up a pad from the table and began selecting things from it.

"And we have to get you a decent datapad. They give you a basic one at the Academy, but unless you have to, you want to pick up your own. There was a trader here the other day that had some top of the line stuff..."

Ti trailed off, typing away excitedly.

Realizing that he was ignoring his guest, he stopped abruptly and addressed her.

"Sorry. Got kind of caught up in the moment. I'm going to do some work to see what we have to do to get you in. You're kind of a special case. I don't know whether they'd classify you as Borg or Human, and the rules are different for non-Federation applications."

He shook his head.

"Listen, this is a bunch of mumbo-jumbo. I'll take a look into it and try to pick up a nice pad for you."

Four Fifty-one protested.

"That is not necessary."

The doctor shook his hand.

"No, it may be necessary. We need to get the ball rolling on this as soon as possible. Especially considering that you're former Borg, Natal even, and the Academy is on Earth."

That was the second time he'd mentioned that the Academy was on Earth. She started to question the relevance, but he cut her off before she could even open her mouth.

"I'm going to let you go, then. You've given me a lot to do."

"That was not this one's intention."

Ti smiled again.

"I'll worry about how much work I want to do, you worry about using 'my' in the proper places."

He was correct; she had slipped again. However, his argument was sound.

"Very well. I will talk to you later then."

"Stay safe, Four Fifty-one."

He winked slyly and leaned forward to press a button just off the screen, leaving her with "Transmission Terminated" flashing in blue.

"Who was that?"

Nine had just woken up and propped herself up on her arm. There was the outline of an implant on her face where she had lain on her hand.

Four Fifty-one turned in the chair towards her.

"That is Dr. Ti. He is a friend of mine."

She turned back to the flashing screen.

"A very good friend."

"Ah! So you do still exist!"

Four Fifty-one's counselor, Daniel Jaras, tossed his datapad on the desk and moved to greet her. She took her normal place at the first of the two chairs, shaking his hand as they sat.

"And how are you, Four Fifty-one?"

"I am well."

"Good, good."

He wrung his hands a bit, breaking and reestablishing eye contact several times before he started talking again.

"Now we haven't met in a while, at your behest, which is fine. I don't want you to do anything you don't feel comfortable with, but I want to talk to you about something important."

Four Fifty-one nodded.

"As you wish."

He nodded back, still rubbing his hands together.

"Now, generally, we don't like to pry into the social lives of the drones on this station. Usually, most socializing behavior is looked on as a good thing, and we encourage all of it. However, if we feel like it could be destructive, we may intervene. Do you understand?"

"Yes.", Four Fifty-one responded flatly.

"Good, good. So now I'm going to ask a simple question, and I need you to be honest with me. Okay?"

"Okay."

He repositioned himself closer to her, as though he was going to tell her a secret.

"What is your relationship with Nine?"

"She is a friend."

The counselor cocked his head to one side.

"Is that true?"

Four Fifty-one sighed. He obviously knew more than he was letting on.

"Mostly."

He smiled.

"That's what I thought."

Daniel reached over and retrieved a pad from the desk.

"As you probably know, day after tomorrow, Nine is up for diagnosis and she stands a very good chance of being released. But the question is: 'And then what?"

Four Fifty-one knew exactly what he was driving at, but said nothing. He scrolled down on his pad, and continued.

"I know you've seen the educational vids on romantic relationships with former Borg drones. They cover many things: the expanded lifespan of the Liberated, expected emotional distance, and such. What they don't cover is relationships between former drones."

He stopped for a bit, looking for understanding from her. Finding nothing but her stoic expression, he moved on.

"Nine was only assimilated for a little over six years, and she's just about ready to resume a normal life. You however, have been Borg your entire life. You could be here for several more months, or even years."

Daniel tried to look Four Fifty-one directly in the eye, but she was staring off to her side.

"Is that fair to her?"

Four Fifty-one did not respond, but the deafening void of sound in the room answered for her.

No.

"I just want you to think about that."

He turned the pad over in his hand, placing it face down on his leg.

"So, on to other news. Your sister is doing much better. Dr. Rich has decided that we should go ahead and proceed with surgery."

Four Fifty-one jerked her head back to Daniel.

"When?"

"The end of this week. She should be back in her own quarters by next week some time."

He held up his hand like he was instructing her.

"Now I have been told that she may not be the same. They are going to have to remove several implants throughout her body and one of the controller devices integrated into her brainstem."

"That could paralyzer her."

Daniel nodded.

"That is what I have been told as well. They believe that those implants are the ones malfunctioning."

Four Fifty-one could barely hold still. What they were planning would be worse than death – far worse.

"This one, we, I must go."

She stood and headed for the exit, leaving the counselor in stunned silence. She tore down the hallway, her clenched fist shaking at her side.

It would be two whole days before she could get back into that room. It was too well guarded for her to move any sooner, and even then, it was a big risk.

She was getting Three-Twelve out of there, even if she had to fight the whole station by herself. But before that, she was going to have to do something far more difficult.

She rotated the once-red flower on her table. The battle was almost over. Though Four Fifty-one had tried everything to keep this plant alive, it looked like it would be ending momentarily.

Probably for the best.

The door swished open and Nine bounced in with a pad in her hand.

"Guess what?"

Her face was all one big smile and two wide eyes.

Four Fifty-one turned to her, pushing the potted husk aside.

"What?"

"I'm getting released!"

She jumped into the chair next to Four Fifty-one, sliding the datapad between them.

"Look! There's this transport coming tomorrow, headed for a colony. They need farmers and they said that I can use some of my land to grow flowers if I want."

She hit a button showing an obviously doctored photo of a smiling man standing next to a field of grain with a pre-fabricated colony house in the background. Various impressive farm equipment stood next to him.

"And while right now you can only get single-dwelling houses unless you have a family, you can put two of the singles together."

She changed the image to a moving schematic of two of the single dwellings being combined.

"See? So you can get one when you come and we'll just attach it to mine."

Four Fifty-one sighed.

"Nine..."

Nine ignored her, continuing with her presentation.

"Of course they have lots of other things to do, you don't have to be a farmer of course. Though seeing you in overalls would be pretty funny."

She smiled and let out a giggle.

Four Fifty-one did not pursue her sentence for a moment. She wanted to take in the smile on Nine's face before she was forced to destroy it. She felt like a murderer, holding the knife in the air above her oblivious victim.

"...I will not be coming with you."

Nine shrugged.

"Well, not now of course. Not like I'm going to smuggle you off the station. But when you get out-"

"Not then either."

Nine tilted her head to one side. Her expression quickly moved from elation to confusion.

"Why not?"

"I have other plans."

"What plans?"

Four Fifty-one looked down at the pad and back to Nine.

"I intend to join Starfleet."

"Oh, well I can do this for now, and then I can come join you when you get out."

Four Fifty-one placed her hand on Nine's. It was time to stop evading the issue.

"I cannot be with you."

Nine's eyes flashed with understanding and immediately started to turn red. Down the knife came.

"Why? What's wrong with me?"

She paused for only a brief moment before firing off another round. The tears had started to form and were positioned for escape at any moment.

"Did I do something to make you mad? Is it because of last week? I'm sorry, I won't do that again."

All Four Fifty-one had to do was lie and this would all come to an end. Tell Nine that she'd changed her mind and they would be together when she got out. But that wasn't going to happen. This lie had to be stopped now. There was no 'them' outside this station.

Four Fifty-one rubbed Nine's hand softly. She wanted so badly to cry with her, show that she was sharing in the pain. But, like every other of her ilk, she was all but forced to keep the same flat expression she always had.

"There is nothing wrong with you and you have nothing to be sorry about. You are very pretty and very sweet. You have been a good friend, and helped this one through many things."

Nine looked at the bed as she took the pad from the table.

"But we..."

Nine didn't complete the next word. She stood, wiping her eyes frantically to remove the tears long enough to see. The struggle to stop the crying was written all over her face.

"I have to pack."

Before Four Fifty-one could respond, Nine took off through the door, leaving the heartless drone, hands covered in blood, and a dead flower.

Four Fifty-one moved slowly to the bed, where she laid face down into the mattress as comfortably as she could. She took her small pillow and calmly placed it over her head to muffle every tearless, screaming sob.

Standing behind the column, Four Fifty-one peeked out momentarily to look around before retreating back. She really didn't know if she should be here, but she couldn't let it end like this. It had been fast and short, but it had been real to the core.

Nine appeared, loaded with two large boxes no doubt filled with her various plants. She struggled to see over the top of them as she weaved her way to the dock door.

Four Fifty-one came out of hiding, moving directly towards her. Nine saw her and stopped. Clumsily she set down her luggage and turned to face her.

She brushed a bit of red hair from her face and crossed her arms, trying to show strength through her dejected expression. Her eyes, normally vibrant, seemed dull and glazed over.

"Hey."

Four Fifty-one stopped abruptly. It had not occurred to her until now, but she had no idea what she intended to say.

Perhaps a farewell would do best.

"I wanted to say goodbye."

"That's all?"

"Yes."

Nine nodded.

"That's what I was afraid you'd say."

Four Fifty-one had so much to say, but the sentences broke apart as soon as they formed. She started anyway.

"Nine, I-"

"Nina."

Nine uncrossed her arms and looked at the ground, shuffling her foot slightly.

"Dr. Rich suggested that I use my pre-assimilation name, but there was too much..."

She paused for a bit, her eyes darting around the floor.

"...attached to that one. I changed the last letter. It's not very creative, I know."

Four Fifty-one tried to force eye contact by leaning towards her a bit.

"Nina is a very good name."

Nina looked back up at her and came dangerously close to a smirk.

"Glad you think so."

The loudspeaker came on to announce the incoming flight.

"Transport ship USS Risis has arrived and is ready to board."

Nina pointed back over her shoulder with her thumb.

"Guess I have to go."

Four Fifty-one moved in to embrace her, but Nina took a slow step away.

"Please don't."

Nina fidgeted with her fingers and looked to her side as she took a few more steps back.

"It'll hurt too much."

Four Fifty-one put her arms down. Nina walked back to her boxes, heaving them up. She turned her head back towards Four Fifty-one as she climbed the few stairs to the door.

"If you change your mind, you know where I'll be."

As much as Four Fifty-one wanted to assuage her pain, she could not. She could only bring the cold hard truth that would not leave Nina grasping for a future that will never be.

"I do not believe that will happen."

Nina nodded sadly.

"Yeah, but a girl has to try, doesn't she?"

She forced a smile.

"Goodbye, Four Fifty-one."

"Goodbye, Nina."

Four Fifty-one stood staring at the closed door until long after the transport had gone.

Four months ago, a strange, green-eyed red-headed girl was looking at her from across the room, and today that girl was taking a piece of her away. She'd offered the ugly one-eyed drone everything she'd been missing. She'd filled in all the empty spots. And then that ugly drone threw the pretty girl away, swearing it was being done for her own good. She could not have created a machination to hurt them both any worse if she'd planned to do so from the beginning.

Four Fifty-one took a deep breath, relieving the pain momentarily as she turned to head back to her quarters. Her failings as a lover would need to be the subject for lament another day, however. There was a war to start.

She was spotted the second she set foot in the hall leading to solitary. The single female patrolling this corridor did a quick sidestep before making her way towards Four Fifty-one.

Raising one hand and placing the other on her weapon, the attendant shouted at her.

"You are not supposed to be back here."

Four Fifty-one nodded, closing the distance between them.

"I apologize."

She could feel the attendant's jaw snap instantly upon contact, sending the female spinning backwards like a doll. The force of the punch knocked her unconscious before she hit the ground, rolling once on inertia alone.

Four Fifty-one retrieved the ZPR and badge from the attendant, taking a moment to verify that she was indeed still alive. Not as subtle as Nine's method, but just as effective.

Using the newly-acquired badge, Four Fifty-one proceeded into the dark solitary room, the unconscious woman in tow by her leg.

Three-Twelve was exactly where they'd seen her last week; tossed on a dirty bed in the fourth room. She opened the door and pulled her sister up to a sitting position, cupping the back of her head with her hand.

"Three-Twelve?"

Three-Twelve's eyes opened slightly, blinked, and then closed.

"Four Fifty-one. Has it been a couple of days already?"

"It has been nearly two weeks since we last spoke."

She opened her eyes again, but painfully slow, like they were made of cement.

"Then we must go. Hopefully, this unit has the entire door code now."

Four Fifty-one knew exactly what door code she was referring to, and where they needed to go next.

She hoisted Three-Twelve up, slinging her arm across her back and picking the few I.V. devices out of her skin. Three-Twelve nodded to the attendant sprawled on the floor of her room.

"We are not on good terms with the staff?"

Four Fifty-one shook her head as she moved the two of them around the body and to the door of the dark room.

"There was little time for a covert operation. When we leave we will lock her in here."

"Where's your girlfriend?"

She stopped and looked to Three-Twelve after swiping the badge to lock the door.

"How do you know about our relationship?"

Three-Twelve swung her head up to look back at her sister through sleepy eyes.

"This one was sedated, not blinded."

She let her head drop back down, stopping short of hitting her chest with her chin.

Four Fifty-one re-gripped the weapon in her hand and prepared to move out into the hallway.

"She was released yesterday. We are no longer together."

Three-Twelve rocked back and forth a bit, but didn't say anything.

They proceeded through the door, moving down the corridor slowly. Using the back hallways, they avoided most of the staff, only having to pause for a few moments to let one go by before they continued on.

The door came into sight, just a few more meters down the curved corridor.

A man with a pad in hand appeared from around the corner, looked up and froze.

"What is she doing out?"

He took a quick glance at the ZPR in Four Fifty-one's hand and reached for his own. She fired first.

The blast hit him in the arm forcing him to drop his weapon. He yelled an explicative while he reached down with his other arm to pick it up.

She fired again, this time hitting him in the leg. He dropped, still trying to retrieve the weapon with his unwieldy grip.

She fired a third time, hitting him in the chest and knocking the wind out of him, effectively muting the attendant.

Three-Twelve reached over and tapped her on the shoulder.

"If you intend to kill him via this method, we may be delayed by several hours."

Four Fifty-one nodded and started to move them towards the man whispering swears. He gave up on the weapon and started to clumsily crawl away when he noticed them approaching.

She fired again, hitting the attendant in the other leg. He came to a stop.

When they arrived at the downed man, Four Fifty-one rolled him over onto his back.

"How do you suggest we deal with him?"

Three-Twelve gave him a swift, but poorly-aimed, kick in the face. He rolled over slightly, completely unconscious.

Four Fifty-one approved.

"Efficient."

She leaned Three-Twelve against the door and started to remove the clamps. Three-Twelve put her hand on her sister's arm.

"No, don't need to move those. They're just for show. The only lock is in the wall panel."

Braced between the door frame and two shaky legs, Three-Twelve was able to prop herself up beside the panel. She opened the access port and placed her arm inside while trying to get a good view.

"If this side of the door uses the same code as the other one, then there should be eight sets of five symbols. It took significant work to memorize them, considering this unit's condition at the time."

"How long?"

Three-Twelve shrugged.

"Unknown."

A siren came on and the wall consoles started to flash red. Four Fifty-one backed herself up to the door.

"I believe we have very little time."

Three-Twelve punched in another set of codes on the oddly-shaped device and hit the small blue object growing to the side. It accepted it and requested another.

They could hear the sounds of commotion all around behind the blaring whine of the alert. A set of feet were thumping closer.

Four Fifty-one kneeled down and held her pathetic excuse for a weapon up, pointing it down the hall. She may not win the fight, but she was going to at least get in the first shot.

Luckily, the fight never came. The door swished open, and an unsteady Three-Twelve removed herself from the opening. She placed the console door back on the frame and waved Four Fifty-one over to assist her in.

The room was dim, most of the light being concentrated on a large metal chair just off-center of an open space in front of two rows of consoles. A large device was connected to the center of the chair and loomed over it like an instrument of torture. To some degree it resembled an unblossomed flower.

An odd smell permeated the room. The air had a mixture of death and decay with a sterile film over it. The aroma was both sweet and sickeningly foul.

Four Fifty-one could feel Three-Twelve lurching as she gripped tighter to stay standing. Looking over, she found that her sister was dry-heaving with her hand clasped over her mouth.

"Are you ill?"

Three-Twelve shook her head no and removed her hand long enough to point to the second set of consoles on the other side.

"There's what we need."

She quickly clamped her hand back to her face, just prior to another heave.

They made their way to the console that Three-Twelve had pointed out, stopping every few steps so she could lurch a bit, and then regain her composure.

By the time they reached the panel, Three-Twelve had stopped entirely, but her eyes were sunken from the stress. She leaned on the console, though she did not attempt to use it.

"This unit should be fine now."

She took a deep breath, but almost gagged on it.

"We have to find out what they were looking for."

"Who?"

The door opened, and two attendants stepped in. One was the female who taught the sculpting class, the other was Josh. The two started slowly moving around the room, presumably looking for them. Three-Twelve grabbed Four Fifty-one and pulled her to the ground. They scooted up to where their backs were against the first row of consoles.

Four Fifty-one readied her weapon and peeked out over a cabinet. She whispered down to her sister.

"One of them is Josh."

Three-Twelve reached in futility towards a device sitting on the console above her.

"That is not Josh, anymore."

Four Fifty-one crouched back down and nodded at her.

"I had that impression."

"The only ones we can trust are the drones. The nanoprobes in drones' bodies can't be replicated by them."

She paused for a moment and dropped her hand back down.

"Would you retrieve the control pad on the console above?"

Four Fifty-one nodded and handed it to her, keeping an eye on the attendants that were making their way towards them.

Three-Twelve punched a few buttons on the pad and a whirring began to fill the room. Josh and the woman looked up at each other in surprise, just as the device connected to the metal chair sprang to life, sending a set of high-energy beams pouring out in all directions.

They both attempted to dodge behind different pieces of equipment in the room, but neither made it far. The device sliced limbs off with unsettling precision, even as it spun erratically around.

After a brief period of insanity, the device slowed, coming to a stop in its original position. It retracted as it latched back to the chair, giving off a faint dying hiss.

Three-Twelve tossed the control device to the side.

"We should verify that our improvised weapon was successful."

Four Fifty-one stood and headed back to the center of the room, while Three-Twelve lifted herself up and started working on the console.

The female was decapitated and had lost an arm as well. There was surprisingly little blood for such a grisly scene. Apparently, the beam cauterized as it cut.

Turning back towards the last known location of Josh, Four Fifty-one tightened her grip on the ZPR. He was not there.

In his place was a large brown creature that had at some point had three legs, but had been recently downgraded to two. Its torso was split in three directions, head and arm separated from the other arm and chest. One of the arms still had all four fingers on it.

"8472"

Three-Twelve tilted to one side and looked over her shoulder.

"Yes. They have been using this station as a way to examine Borg technology through the drones the Federation has liberated. They manipulated their genetic code to mimic the people they replaced."

She turned back to her work.

"Fortunately, they still have to release us alive."

"How did they remove us without the other attendants knowing?"

Three-Twelve shrugged.

"Probably because all, or mostly all, of the attendants are them. They are as patient as they are malevolent."

She struck the console with her hand.

"We're not in this computer. They must be holding our data somewhere else."

She started to hobble down the row of consoles, using each one as a brace to keep her from falling.

"This unit saw one of them change, when sculpting with Eighteen. It noticed this one and threw the table at us before retreating. This unit then misidentified Eighteen as a co-conspirator."

When she arrived at Four Fifty-one, she wrapped her arm around her sister's shoulder. She reached down and picked up the head of the alien, tucking it under her arm while she retrieved its weapon.

Four Fifty-one helped her retain her balance as she turned the weapon on and fiddled with the settings.

"Trophy?"

"No, proof. If there's one thing that the Borg and Federation have in common, it's disdain for Species 8472."

Three-Twelve pointed towards the door.

"Let's go raise an army."

By the time they had met the third attendant, it was an art. Both would fire constantly as they approached the orderly, and then the two could incapacitate them. It was a painfully slow process that usually resulted in a lot of swearing and a few screams, but with their current weaponry, it was all they could do.

When they reached the residential area, the drones were acting in the manner that Four Fifty-one would have predicted. They were milling about, obviously confused as to the purpose of the alert.

With no one to guide them they simply wandered around, awaiting instruction.

Three-Twelve addressed them as best she could. She had improved considerably since she was first removed from her bed, but she was still shaky from the after effects.

"Drones!"

Every one of the Liberated immediately stopped and turned towards her.

"We are being attacked by an alien force. We must defend ourselves."

No one in the crowd moved, save for a few that took quick glances at each other. She was going to need to do better than that.

Three-Twelve held the alien's head in the air.

"We are being attacked by Species 8472. They have replaced the staff of this station. We must defend ourselves."

She tossed the decapitated skull into the middle of a large group of drones. Two-Twenty and the others that were there instinctively moved away.

That sealed the deal. If there was one thing that was permanently hard-wired into every drone, it was the capabilities of Specie 8472. The inter-dimensional creatures had destroyed hundreds of Borg planets and thousands of ships. There was little need for further elaboration on what needed to be done.

They began to move closer, a few requesting further instructions.

Four Fifty-one looked down at her weapon, turning it over in her hand.

"We will need better armaments."

Three-Twelve nodded slowly.

"Perhaps the old armory."

"Then that is where we need to head next."

"As you wish."

Four Fifty-one scanned her newly-acquired cybernetic horde.

"I suppose I am in charge."

Three-Twelve looked up at her sister.

"You have someone better in mind?"

No, she did not.

The old armory was just a few corridors down from the residential area, and was remarkably clear.

Three-Twelve was the first to make the observation as they turned into the last hall.

"We are meeting very little resistance."

Four Fifty-one did not respond. It was unsettling, but they had to find weapons. They were defenseless except for the two ZPRs, which were nearly useless against organics.

The door to the old weapons storage was halfway down the hall they were currently entering. About twenty meters of empty corridor resided on either side of the armory. It was not a tactically sound venture, with very little cover the entire way.

The small army proceeded slowly down, keeping an eye on the only two entrances to the current hallway. Two-Twenty stopped suddenly and turned to Four Fifty-one.

"Hydrocarbons."

Everything went black.

Four Fifty-one yelled back to the drones behind them.

"To the walls!"

She then threw both her and her sister to the door to the old armory. The others behind them followed suit, taking cover behind the small columns that protruded out from the sides of the hallway.

When the firing started, only a few drones were left without anything to hide behind. They were quickly dropped by the phaser fire from the opposite end of the corridor.

A male drone fairly close to them was hit, and fell towards them. Three-Twelve reached out and checked for a pulse, while her sister shot hopelessly back in the direction the weapons fire had originated.

"It appears that this unit was inaccurate in its assumption. They have no intention of letting us live."

Four Fifty-one slid up to the door, laying as flat against the wall as possible. She tried to hit the keys to open the door but it chimed back in denial.

"We must get this door open."

Three-Twelve tossed her ZPR to a drone across the way. He immediately turned and began firing down the hall.

She motioned for them to change places, to which her sister complied, helping her up to the panel. Four Fifty-one stood beside her, back against the door, leaning over to fire a shot when she caught a break in the onslaught.

Weapons fire came uncomfortably close as the attendants were slowly making their way towards them. They had only a minute at best before they would be forced to withdraw.

After entering a few keystrokes and being denied, Three-Twelve pulled back and punched through the panel. She wiggled her hand and arm around inside for a few moments, breaking away every few seconds to an electrical shock.

"Almost got it."

Four Fifty-one could feel the door start to open behind her. She turned and faced it to find that it had only cracked a few centimeters.

Three-Twelve put her fingers in and attempted to force the door open. It creaked in response, but did not give.

Four Fifty-one joined her sister, but the door held fast.

A third set of hands came between them, and the door started to slowly relent.

It was Eighteen. He had come up behind them, but the column protecting them from the phaser fire was not big enough to conceal him.

He took a shot to the side, throwing him to the edge of the door which he still gripped with one hand. Undeterred, he repositioned himself and began to slide the door open again.

A second shot hit his leg, forcing him to drop to one knee. He simply reset his hands at the bottom and continued to pull them apart. The door slid open just as a third shot connected with his head.

He dropped out into the middle of the hall like a falling pile of bricks. Three-Twelve reached out to Eighteen, but she was already being tugged away. There was nothing that could be done for him now.

Four Fifty-one pulled her the rest of the way into the room.

"Where did you learn to do that?"

Three-Twelve glanced at the floor and back up to her sister.

"Just about where you're standing."

The other drones followed, some being struck down as they attempted to cross the barrage of fire speeding down the hall. Most, however, made it into the room with no injuries.

Three-Twelve reached over and tapped the light switch for the room. It was indeed filled with weaponry. She stood weakly, grabbed a few rifles and tossed them to the remaining drones near the door. They abruptly pivoted and returned fire.

The weapons were old Mark II pieces probably from back when the station was originally abandoned. The high-pitched whine they emitted when fired and the blue hue of the beam were distinctive to their era.

Four Fifty-one turned over a sniper rifle in her hand while eying the grenades.

"These will have to suffice."

Three-Twelve nodded and grabbed a holstered knife from one of the shelves.

"These will."

Once the drones were armed and fighting, it wasn't long before they were pushing back hard. Even with their elderly weapons and lack of any sophisticated training, most of them were built to fight. When one fell, another moved up silently, pushed the body out of the way and took their place.

They stayed glued to the walls outside the armory for hours, holding off the attack from two sides. In some cases they were firing blindly towards the ends of the hallways in the low light, hoping that a shot might land on fate alone.

Slowly, after what felt like years, the returning fire began to slow, and eventually came to a complete stop. The silence was deafening, as if they'd been listening to the whine and whistle of phasers their entire lives. An acrid haze filled the air, making the little light they had almost unusable.

The drones with low-light optical implants leaned out slightly to check for survivors. Both ducked back in and shook their heads 'no' at Four Fifty-one. She pointed to the other drones, held up two fingers, and then motioned out to the hall.

They nodded and proceeded to take up opposite sides in the corridor, two at a time, leap-frogging over each other down the remaining twenty meters of corridor. There did not appear to be any remaining forces. They had either decided to regroup elsewhere, or they were waiting for another ambush.

Bodies littered the floor. Some were drones, but the vast majority were humanoid, 8472 or some stage between the two. A few had apparently started to change back just prior to death, while others were completely back in their original form.

Three-Twelve gave one a quick kick. The Borg were not capable of fear or hatred, but if they were, these creatures would be deserving of both.

"Where to now?"

Four Fifty-one brought up the layout of the station in her Imager, sliding it around and locating her next objective.

"Comm room. We will need to send a distress signal."

Three-Twelve looked around the corner while still addressing her.

"Which way?"

Four Fifty-one headed down the hallway to the right, sticking close to the wall. The Comm room was a single corridor down, but it might as well be on the other side of the station. There was no telling where they'd be attacked again, making every meter of open corridor a potential trap.

Continuing their leapfrog with the remaining drones, they creeped laboriously towards their goal. The lights were still out, making the slow flashing red the only source of light for almost the entire trip.

The Comm room was thankfully positioned in an easily-defensible spot, just to the side of a set of shipping crates. Most of the drones took up residence there, while Four Fifty-one checked the door.

It was unlocked, but not unoccupied. She could make out the movements of at least two people inside. She popped a grenade off her pack and tossed it to Three-Twelve who was crouching on the other side of the door.

"I hope these still work."

She reached up and placed her hand over the keypad.

Three-Twelve nodded back and leaned slightly to one side, just enough to cause the door to open. She tossed the armed device into the room and calmly slid back.

Four Fifty-one tapped the pad, causing the door to lock.

There were a few muffled screams and a fist hitting the door before the explosion silenced them. They both paused for a moment to listen.

Nothing.

Four Fifty-one reached up and tapped the keypad again. The door opened, releasing a bit of smoke out into the hallway.

Inside, there were three bodies tossed over each other, all badly burned. However, the equipment appeared to be undamaged, excluding a few scorch marks.

Three-Twelve smiled faintly as they stood.

"Good work."

Four Fifty-one grimaced back as she surveyed the dead.

"I suppose."

They both headed to the Communications console in the center of the small room. Alien symbols covered the screen, growing out of the center and sliding off to the side. The cryptic text stayed there a moment before disappearing and re-emerging at the center again.

Weapons fire erupted outside.

Three-Twelve started keying in codes on the panel.

"This unit will take care of sending the distress call."

Four Fifty-one nodded, braced her rifle against her shoulder and headed back into the hall.

A group of about six creatures had opened fire on the drones outside the door. Hopefully, they would only need to hold this position for a few minutes while her sister sent the message.

Two more attendants joined them, sending a storm of fire towards their position. If this kept up, they would be overwhelmed shortly. The drones simply did not have the training with hand weapons necessary to hold a good line of suppressing fire.

She rolled over to a crate across the hall, and set her sniper rifle on top of the box. The scope popped out, but she snapped it back in. She didn't need it. Her Imager aligned the weapon with a targeting reticule in her vision. After a few practice shots, the two were calibrated together.

Zooming in, she placed the reticle on the head of one of the creatures and pulled the trigger. It was a perfect shot, slicing a hole directly through it.

It staggered around on its three legs and keeled over backwards.

Once the hit had been confirmed, she dropped down and waited for the rifle to cool down. After nine seconds it blinked over to ready and she popped back up, laid another round in an attendants head, and fell back behind cover.

She could do this all day, and she had a feeling that she would be.


	11. Chapter 11: Landfall

451

Devorah Quinn

_I quickly destroyed part of my sledge to construct oars; and by these means was enabled, with infinite fatigue, to move my ice-raft in the direction of your ship. I had determined, if you were going southward, still to trust myself to the mercy of the seas, rather than to abandon my purpose._

_~"Frankenstein" Mary Shelley  
(1818)_

_-11-_

_Landfall_

Three-Twelve came out of the Comm room to a flurry of fire that went in both directions, and no one seemed to be making any headway. Once someone was struck down, a new group would take their place, creating a wall that could not be passed.

She made a quick crouched run to the other side of the hall, where her sister was successfully picking off a few every couple of minutes. Throwing herself against the wall she slid as close to her as possible without getting in the way of her work.

"How are we doing?"

Four Fifty-one dropped back down after delivering a round and pushed herself back.

"They will overwhelm us within the hour if we maintain our current position."

"Then we must move."

Two-Twenty scrambled over to join them, while another drone took his perch behind a stack of boxes.

"We are not doing well."

Three-Twelve nodded to him, and then turned her attention back to her sister who was lining up another shot. She squeezed the trigger and popped back behind cover.

Four Fifty-one checked the timer on the weapon and turned back towards her siblings.

"We could go down the back hall and head towards the dock. There might be a ship there we could use."

Three-Twelve shook her head while she grabbed the pistol on her side and powered it up.

"They would just corner us in another hallway. We would need a group to stay here to keep their attention."

"Unacceptable. Whoever we left would be destroyed."

Three-Twelve held her gun up and fired a few shots blindly down the hall.

"If we stay here we will be overrun."

"This one will stay."

Two-Twenty repositioned his rifle on his shoulder.

"This unit can set this weapon to automatic. It will deplete the battery quickly, but it will give the impression there are more here than there are."

Four Fifty-one and Three-Twelve looked at each other.

"Are you sure?"

Four Fifty-one checked the timer on her weapon. It was in the ready status, but she waited for an answer from Two-Twenty before she moved on.

He slid the indicator on the side of the rifle from 'Semi-Auto' to 'Full-Auto'.

"When the weapon is depleted this unit will move towards your position as quickly as possible."

Four Fifty-one popped up and fired a shot, before coming back down to confirm the plan.

"Then that is how we will proceed."

She twirled her hand in the air, getting the attention of the drones, and pointed towards the hall to the docking area. A few nodded while others continued to shoot while slowly heading back.

Two-Twenty set his weapon on top of the nearest crate and began firing a massive spread of purplish-blue bolts. Four Fifty-one gave him a quick half-hug half-squeeze on the shoulder before moving to join the others.

Three-Twelve dropped her pistol next to him.

"This unit does not hug others. However, here is a gun."

He nodded as she turned to follow her sister.

Two-Twenty pulled the trigger again, sending another cluster of rounds down the hallway, forcing those at the other end to cower for a bit. He counted the heads and muttered to himself.

"Seventeen to Two-Twenty. The odds are in this one's favor."

They could hear the sounds of Two-Twenty's gun fade as they made their way down the corridor. Species 8472 must have been concentrating all their forces at the Comm room juncture. There was no resistance to be found the entire way to the docking platform.

Three-Twelve came to a sudden halt and grabbed Four Fifty-one's shoulder.

"There she is."

"There who is?"

Some of the drones had started to slow, noticing the absence of their two leaders. Four Fifty-one pointed down the hall in the direction they had been going.

"To the dock. We will join you momentarily."

The few that had stopped, turned and continued on their way as she was drug by Three-Twelve down an adjacent corridor.

Three-Twelve let go and took off in a dead sprint.

"There!"

Four Fifty-one saw it now. It was Dr. Rich. She increased her speed to keep up with her sister.

After a few turns, the doctor had trapped herself at the end of a short stub of a hallway. She turned to them, red, panting and covered in sweat.

"You can't kill me."

Three-Twelve slid the knife out of her hip holster.

"That may be so, though this unit will still make the attempt."

The two had come to a walk now, forcing the doctor into the corner.

"No. I know why you are the way you are."

They stopped a half-meter from her. She was holding her hands in front of her face, as though that would help her. For an alien, she was reacting very much like a human.

Four Fifty-one put her gun down.

"Explain."

"It's in your Epigenetics. You're all alike, yet all different. The Borg bred you because they were looking for something."

"What were they looking for?"

The doctor was regaining her composure.

"I will tell you nothing else unless you promise to let me go back to where I came from."

Three-Twelve thrust the knife up to her neck, letting the point rest just under her chin.

"This one will not bargain."

Four Fifty-one placed her hand on Three-Twelve's forearm.

"Perhaps the information would be worth it."

Dr. Rich looked wildly from one to the other.

"I will tell your inferior species nothing unless I get safe passage. I've destroyed all the data on this station."

In one quick move, Three-Twelve slid the knife through the bottom of the doctor's mouth up to the hilt. Blood ran down over her hand and splattered across the floor when she jerked it back out. The body stood for a second before the knees gave way and it crumpled to the ground.

Four Fifty-one spun to face her sister who was still staring at the dead doctor. She jumped her hand from her arm to her shoulder.

"What are you doing? It had information that we could use."

Three-Twelve slapped her hand away and placed her arm on Four Fifty-one's shoulder using it as a brace to push her back against the wall. She was holding the bloody knife dangerously close to Four Fifty-one's face.

"While you were kissing on that red-headed drone, this unit was subjected to every experiment that thing could contrive."

She spun the knife in her hand, as if she intended to use it. Her iris-less gray eyes darted around, focusing on things that were not there.

"You have no idea what they are capable of. It does not deserve to live."

Her voice softened and her grip relaxed.

"Information or not."

She gave her one final half-hearted shove against the wall before heading back down the hall. Four Fifty-one almost dropped her gun as she rubbed her shoulder, checking for damage.

Three-Twelve motioned in the air for her to follow, a trail of blood creating a path connecting the two.

"Come. We are done here."

When they rejoined the group at the dock, it became clear that the tide of the battle was turning against them. The drones had managed to take the door, fortifying themselves behind the short, flower-covered walls that normally greeted visitors. Now, however, they were merely a few charred plants sitting on top of an equally blackened wall.

Four Fifty-one crouched with her sister, headed towards the nearest of the impromptu-trenches and re-calibrated her rifle. Three-Twelve took a spot beside her and nodded towards the door.

"We must get that door open."

"Do you believe you can do that?"

Three-Twelve shook her head.

"No, this unit will not be able to force it open. The door locks will need to be disengaged."

Four Fifty-one looked around for a drone with the proper implants. A female, with her shoulder in the corner near the stairs to the door, appeared to be the only one properly designed for their needs. She did not seem to be actively engaging in the fight either, with her eyes clamped shut and her rifle barrel to her forehead.

She moved to her position, close enough that they could speak over the weapons fire.

"What is your name?"

The drone turned towards her, eyes springing open. She had a series of small implants scattered around the side of her face identifying her as previously being a utility drone of some sort.

"Th-This one is Jasmine."

She squeezed the girl's shoulder.

"I need you to do something for me."

She moved her head up and down, tensely.

Four Fifty-one pointed to the door panel. It was in a small recess, up a few stairs behind their current position.

"I need you to open that door. Can you do that?"

She nodded yes and then switched to a no.

"This unit cannot comply."

Jasmine was shaking, clamping her eyes shut every time a shot landed near.

Three-Twelve had joined them, bloody knife still in hand. She was leaning in front of the girl, impatiently.

"We must get the door open or we will all be destroyed."

Jasmine shook her head again. She mouthed a few words but the only one to escape was "cannot."

Four Fifty-one looked around at her dwindling pool of soldiers, huddled together wherever they could. In the haze of the past day, it had not occurred to her that some of the drones were not adults. Jasmine couldn't have been more than fifteen or sixteen.

Four Fifty-one placed her hand on the girl's face, stroking a small space between the devices there.

"You were a utility drone?"

"Yes."

"You were built to interface and repair equipment?"

The girl clenched her eyes even tighter as a blast landed a few meters away, forcing out her response.

"Yes."

She pulled her hand away from Jasmine's face and pointed to her sister.

"Do you know what she is?"

Jasmine opened her eyes and looked at Three-Twelve.

"No?"

"She is a Reinforced. Do you know what that means?"

Again, she responded, "No?"

"It means that she's built to fight these things. She's killed hundreds of the 8472. I've seen it."

Jasmine stared at Three-Twelve with wide eyes. She nodded back to the girl, drawing attention to her knife by holstering it.

"Possibly thousands."

Four Fifty-one took Jasmine's rifle and handed it to Three-Twelve.

"Now, I need you to open the door, and she's going to make sure that you don't get hurt. Okay?"

The girl nodded, turning over her hand to reveal a large implant that took up most of her forearm. The implant slid away from the skin, revealing two tubules coiled inside. They lifted on their own, snaking their way over her skin.

"This unit will need to interface with the panel."

She started to slowly crawl towards the door. Three-Twelve turned to address Four Fifty-one before following.

"That was an impressive piece of psychology. Where did you learn that?"

Four Fifty-one glanced at the ground and back to her sister.

"Just about where you're standing."

Three-Twelve smirked before turning back to follow the girl up the stairs.

Four Fifty-one slid over to the adjacent wall, coming up long enough to squeeze a shot off and fall back down. She would have taken time to survey the battlefield, but there were probably scores of them up there. She didn't need the bad news.

Two-Twenty plopped down next to Four Fifty-one, panting, with pistol in hand.

"We are due for more to arrive."

"How many?"

He fired a few shots over the wall.

"Three or Four at most."

"Good job."

He shrugged.

"They were outnumbered."

She nodded back at him and he turned to find better cover elsewhere, taking a glance up the stairs at the two drones trying to get to the dock door.

Three-Twelve rolled out first, letting shots fly as Jasmine made a quick dash up the stairs and to the indention in the wall that housed the control panel. She placed her fist on the bottom of the console, letting the tubules slither up and lock in.

There was a jarring flash that consumed her vision as the link was made. It always hit her like a ton of bricks, causing her to stagger back a bit. At least, she thought that she staggered back. The disconnect with her body always distorted her perception.

Jasmine moved the thought aside and refocused on the task at hand: Getting the door open. There were several layers of security, but they were all as old as the station, and required very little work to bypass. It felt like it took her hours to pull apart the security protocols, but she knew she had probably only been standing there for a minute at most.

There were twelve magnetic locks that needed to be released, each with a complex security code. She moved through them as quickly as she could.

One. Two. Three... Ten. Eleven. Twelve.

She removed herself from the panel, flying back to reality, to find Three-Twelve leaning against her.

She was speaking between heavy breaths.

"Did we..."

She took another labored breath.

"...get the door open."

Jasmine confirmed.

"Yes. The door will be cycling open shortly. This one believes there is at least one ship in the hanger. It appears to be quite a large one, capable of carrying many persons."

Three-Twelve nodded slightly.

"Good."

She promptly collapsed, falling backwards into the small recess. Three-Twelve had taken several shots to the leg and a few to the shoulder and chest. Each shallow breath pushed more dark blood out of her gaping chest wounds.

Jasmine realized that she _had_ stepped backwards, out of cover. Three-Twelve had used her body as a shield to stop incoming fire for the few seconds she was exposed.

The door started to hiss as Jasmine fell to her knees beside the drone. She was not breathing well, each one sounding softer than the last. The blood was now running out of her mouth and nose, steadily growing the puddle on the floor. Jasmine screamed for Four Fifty-one but was drowned out by all the other noises around her.

Three-Twelve coughed, sending more down her chin.

"You did well."

The door clunked open behind them. Jasmine turned to see a large group of well-armed soldiers pour through. They were dressed for war, with large masks covering their faces, armored suits and weapons of a type that she'd never seen. They did not slow, marching directly down the stairs while

sending a torrent of fire towards the alien army that had been attacking the drones.

Jasmine pulled the struggling Three-Twelve as far out of their path as possible. They seemed to have no fear of trampling them, each giving little more than a quick glance towards the two drones on the floor.

However, it seemed that they were committed to eradicating 8472. For the time at least, that made them friends.

One of the soldiers crouched down just to the side of the stairs leading to the dock. He addressed a drone there who turned to point at Four Fifty-one while mouthing something.

The soldier made a squatted run towards her position, throwing his back against the wall that she was hiding behind. Leaning towards her, the suited figure slid up the screen on the helmet revealing his face.

He was human, with a stubble beard and a small scar under one of his brown eyes. He looked like he had been in situations like this for some time.

"You in charge here?"

She nodded. Her rifle powered back up, and notified her of its ready status.

He pointed back over his shoulder.

"Go."

Four Fifty-one spun around, placed the rifle on the top of the short wall, fired a shot and dropped back down.

When she returned the man had his hand out.

"Major Dennis Caley, MACO, Valkyrie. And you are?"

Four Fifty-one grabbed his hand and shook it. He had quite a strong grip for an organic.

"Four Fifty-one of Nine Thirty-Three. However, most refer to me as just Four Fifty-one."

He released her hand and turned towards her, placing his shoulder against the wall.

"Thanks for letting us in. What's the situation?"

"The staff of this facility have been replaced by Species 8472. They were using this station as a method of obtaining information on Borg technology through experimentation on the Liberated."

Major Caley popped a device off of his belt and held it up over the top of their cover while squinting into it.

"Yeah, I see 'em. About thirty or so Undine out there. You guys are pretty outnumbered. Surprised you lasted this long."

Four Fifty-one prepared to fire again by repositioning herself.

"I was built to fight these creatures."

He put the device back on his belt and slapped Four Fifty-one on the shoulder.

"Yeah, me too."

Caley pressed a button on the side of his helmet while Four Fifty-one lined up another shot.

"Alright, we're dealing with a whole station of Undine. We can assume that anyone not MACO or Liberated are enemies. If they don't surrender, shoot them."

He paused for a second and leaned forward grimacing as a blast landed fairly close to his head.

"We've got an Admiral's ship inbound, so I want to have these bugs gift-wrapped before she gets here. Clear?"

He stopped for a moment, nodding his head back and forth, affirming something to an unheard voice.

"Affirmative. Standard sweep and clear. Let's go."

Caley tapped the button on his helmet and looked back at Four Fifty-one.

"Well, suppose while I'm here I might as well shoot something. I want your group to stay back while we press forward. Technically, you guys are civilians and I can't have you going and dying. Makes me look bad."

"Understood."

With a smirk, the Major slid his faceplate back down and tapped a device on his chest. His whole body flashed briefly as his personal shield activated. He stood and did a sidestep-walk away from her while both giving and receiving an impressive amount of weapons fire.

Four Fifty-one turned back towards the door and searched for her sister. The lull in the return fire gave her a chance to make a quick dash towards the small alcove where Three-Twelve and Jasmine were positioned last.

She made her way up the stairs to find her sister on the floor with Jasmine leaning over her. Four Fifty-one dropped her gun and raced to them.

"What happened?"

Jasmine had tears rolling down her face.

"This one was exposed while opening the door."

She choked on a sob.

"Three-Twelve blocked the phaser-fire so the link would not be severed. This one should have paid more attention to its location."

Four Fifty-one placed her hand on Three-Twelve's shoulder, examining it. The damage was deep, however the reinforced bone appeared to be intact. Even without magnifying the area, she could see the nanites struggling to close the wounds before they bled any more. They were not faring well. There was simply too much damage over her entire body.

She looked back towards Jasmine, who had her hands balled in front of her mouth. Her eyes screamed guilt.

"It was not your fault. If you had not gotten the door open when you did, we would be in a much worse situation than we are now."

The girl did not respond beyond a quiet whine.

"Into the dock!"

Four Fifty-one looked over her shoulder to see a crouched man in military fatigues motioning for them to come through the door. His brown t-shirt had a small dark-red cross on it.

Four Fifty-one nodded to him and wrapped her arms under her sister's armpits, dragging her to his position. Three-Twelve coughed again, adding more blood to the smear they had left along their path.

Once inside, the man pulled out a medical tricorder and began to scan her.

"Not good."

Jasmine came around beside him, squeezing out the tears long enough to see the readout.

"Is she going to live?"

The man just shook his head.

"I have no idea how she's still alive right now, so I'm not making any predictions."

He pulled his medical kit towards himself and opened it.

"What's her name?"

Four Fifty-one sat on her knees and tucked her arms around her stomach.

"Three-Twelve."

He slapped a vial into an injector and pressed it to her neck, releasing the contained drug into her system.

"Three-Twelve? Can you hear me?"

She mouthed a yes but no sound came out.

"Everybody calls me Doc. I'm a medic with Valkyrie. I need you to stay awake and keep talking to me, okay?"

She gave another silent yes.

He addressed Four Fifty-one while preparing his dermal regenerator.

"She's got six separate wounds. Lucky for us, the majority of them look to be closing up, but there's probably still significant damage underneath. I'm hoping that if I can get these healed on the surface then her nanoprobes will finish the job."

He glanced up at Four Fifty-one for some kind of confirmation.

She shrugged.

"I do not-"

She was interrupted by the Major running through the door backwards while firing. He spun and crouched down with his back to the frame, lifting his visor.

"We have quite a few coming back up. Bad burns."

He pointed at Four Fifty-one.

"If you're not doing anything, I have some wounded I need moved."

She hesitated before moving on, taking a quick look back at Three-Twelve.

Doc waved her away.

"There's nothing you can do here."

Jasmine put her hand on Four Fifty-one's arm.

"This one will stay here. You will be notified if anything changes."

Four Fifty-one nodded and headed towards the soldier. He had slid his face mask back down and was peering around the corner. His voice was muffled, but still audible.

"We're almost done here. Have a group that are remaining cornered in a room at the end of a hallway. That's where we've got a few to pull back closer to Doc."

The Major did a quick check of his weapon and turned the corner.

"Still, keep your head low."

She took one last look at her sister. Three-Twelve's chest was rising and falling erratically while Jasmine stood over her, talking. Doc looked to have every medical device in existence spread all over the floor.

Four Fifty-one took a deep breath and followed the soldier through the door and down the steps. Perhaps if she could focus on the task at hand, she would not be as tormented by that which she could not change.

The remaining Undine were quickly dispatched, well in time for the Admiral's arrival. Four Fifty-one now spent the majority of her time moving the bodies of the dead creatures with the other Liberated. Apparently, the humans did not want to touch them, even when suited up, and as with most things the soldiers did not want to do, it fell to the drones.

However, it was not the worst job she could have, since the path to the incinerator led right past the infirmary where a mostly unconscious Three-Twelve was being held. She was able to stop by several times a day and visit her sister.

While the MACOs treated all the Liberated with a certain level of disdain, the Starfleet personnel were a bit more accommodating. They had even sent their counselor down to work with the drones.

Four Fifty-one lifted a torso and three legs into the incinerator and closed the door. The bodies were incredibly numerous. There had to have been well over a hundred Undine on this station. It left the question open as to how long they had operated this station, and how many other similar strongholds there were.

A soldier poked Four Fifty-one in the back with his gun.

"The Admiral wants to see you."

She nodded and followed the man back down the corridor to what was now being dubbed the 'interrogation chamber.'

She was led into a fairly small room with a woman in an Admiral's jacket sitting behind a large metal table. She was flanked by two security guards who stood at attention on either side of her.

The soldier did not follow her in, stopping at the door and then turning away as it closed.

The woman motioned to the empty chair across from her.

"Sit."

Four Fifty-one did so, sitting rigidly with her hands folded in her lap.

One of the guards walked over to her, placed a device on her arm, and pressed a button. There was a slight vibration as he held it there, before removing it and walking over to a control panel in the corner.

The woman leaned forward onto the table, placing herself more into the light. She was older, possibly ninety or so, and had her hair pulled into a tight bun that looked not to have a single hair out of place.

She tapped the table while looking off towards the console the security officer was using.

"Blood test. If you have active nanoprobes in you, then you're not one of them."

The guard turned around and nodded at her.

She faced Four Fifty-one again.

"Good. Name?"

"Four Fifty-one of Nine Thirty-Three. I am referred to as Four Fifty-one."

"'I'? Very good, Four Fifty-one."

She pulled a pad from her lap and placed it on the table.

"You may refer to me as Admiral if necessary."

Four Fifty-one nodded and repeated the designation.

"Admiral."

"From the report you participated in, I understand that you led the attack on the Undine here on this station. Is that correct?"

Four Fifty-one affirmed.

"Correct."

"You are a Natal, born into the Borg Collective, is that correct?"

"Correct."

"And you have two siblings on this station, Three-Twelve and Two-Twenty?"

"Yes."

The Admiral looked over her pad and tapped a few times on it.

"You did a very good job here, and, following my counselor's recommendation, I plan to release you. Is that something you would want?"

"Yes."

Four Fifty-one opened her mouth to say something else but quickly closed it again. The woman looked at her over the top of her pad.

"You have something to add?"

"What about my brother and sister?"

She laid the pad down on the table and sighed softly.

"It has been advised that Two-Twenty and Three-Twelve are not sufficiently adjusted to move on to civilian life."

"Understood."

The Admiral nodded and returned to the pad.

"Good. Now, we have to decide where you want to go. We have several colonies both outer and inner that are always looking for more. Also, there are several institutes that would love to have some Liberated on their rosters, and there are of course-"

"Starfleet."

She stopped with her mouth half open, quickly closing it as she reached down the side of her chair.

"I had a feeling that you were going to say that. That would definitely explain these things."

The Admiral placed a box and a datapad on the table.

"These arrived via courier today. We had to open the box for security reasons. You can reopen it when you leave."

She slid the box towards Four Fifty-one but kept the pad.

"This,"

She shook it.

"is a half-finished Starfleet application. Already signed by a Dr. Ti of the U.S.S. Labra, with a recommendation added to the bottom of it. Unfortunately, it isn't signed by a command-level officer. Do you have one in mind?"

Four Fifty-one shook her head. She didn't even know she had an application at all.

"No."

The Admiral dropped the pad to the table and slid a pen out of the side.

"Beyond the fact that you've routed a heavily-entrenched enemy, and saved several lives, you have the confidence of a fine officer. So, if he recommends you, then I can't say you have a better reference; especially considering his personal history with the Borg. If you of all people can earn his trust then you're a rare specimen indeed."

Four Fifty-one considered questioning what personal history she was referring to, but opted against it.

The Admiral signed the pad, returned the pen and slid it towards her.

"A transport ship will be arriving later today to take you to Earth. A fair warning though:"

The woman stood and walked over beside Four Fifty-one.

"The Liberated are not well-liked on Earth, or much elsewhere. While Starfleet likes to believe that it is above such things, it is comprised of people, and people have unfounded hatreds and bigotry. Quite a struggle awaits you there."

Four Fifty-one nodded.

"Thank you for your assistance."

The Admiral smiled.

"Don't drop out of the Academy and make me look like a fool before I retire. I'll consider that thanks enough."

She patted her on the shoulder before heading out the door with the two security guards following.

Four Fifty-one examined the application. It contained her basic data: Training, Background, Name, an Assumed Birth Date and at the bottom was signed by Doctor Sanjiv Ti and Admiral Kathryn Janeway.

Four Fifty-one slid the matted hair on her sister's forehead to one side, waking her.

"Good afternoon."

Three-Twelve opened her eyes groggily.

"It is?"

"You are doing well. Doc says you'll make a full recovery."

Four Fifty-one pulled the chair she was sitting in closer, so she could speak above the bustle of the infirmary's activities. There were quite a few beds in here, but every one was occupied with someone who needed tending to.

Three-Twelve blinked slowly, forcing her eyes to stay open.

"It was a good thing that this unit was rescued from being sedated and put into a bed, so this one could get shot, put into a bed and sedated."

"It is an unfortunate set of events. However, I'm sure you will recover soon."

Three-Twelve closed her eyes and relaxed.

"What did this one miss?"

"We did well, considering the odds. We lost less than half the total drones on the station. The MACO group suffered no casualties."

"MACO? Clarify."

"Military Assault Command Operations. The Federation's army, such as it is. For being organics, they are a formidable force."

Three-Twelve nodded slightly.

"That is fortunate."

Four Fifty-one agreed.

"There were a few attendants captured, and I was required to make an assessment as to their humanity for a report."

"What was your determination?"

"Inconclusive, except for one."

"Who?"

Four Fifty-one did not answer immediately, tapping her knee lightly. She was unsure that she should be revealing this information.

"Darian. I listed him as 'probably 8472.'"

Three-Twelve opened one eye to take a look at Four Fifty-one and closed it again.

"This unit is usually identified as the evil one."

Four Fifty-one smirked.

"Yes, but I think he deserves 'extra processing.'"

"This one was not faulting the decision. However, you are as aware as this unit that he was probably human. That, or an Undine with an odd interest in human females."

"Correct."

Three Twelve took in a deep breath and exhaled slowly.

"What is it you wish to discuss?"

Four Fifty-one cocked her head to one side.

"What?"

"This unit assumes you have come to talk about something important."

She paused, and hearing no response, continued.

"Unless you did come here to remind this one of the time of day and battle casualties."

"No. I did not."

Three-Twelve did not stir, beyond taking another deep breath.

"This unit will not remain conscious for much longer."

Four Fifty-one leaned forward onto the elevated bed, getting within centimeters of her.

"I intend to join Starfleet. I have the Admiral's and Dr. Ti's recommendation, and have submitted a completed application."

"When do you leave?"

"In a few hours."

The corners of Three-Twelve's mouth quivered down and then relaxed.

"Then this is goodbye."

"Correct."

"Has Two-Twenty been informed?"

"Yes."

Four Fifty-one placed her head against her sister's shoulder. Three-Twelve reached over and placed her hand on the back of Four Fifty-one's head. This was about as close to a hug as Four Fifty-one could ever expect.

"Then this one wishes you well."

"And you, too."

She could feel Three-Twelve's hand relax. She had fallen asleep again.

Four Fifty-one took her sister's hand, placed it back to her side and stood. She gave Three-Twelve a quick kiss on the cheek, something she couldn't get away with if she were awake.

Standing there, for a few moments, she looked over her sister. It would be quite a long time before they would meet again, and this was all the time they would have.

When Three-Twelve awoke, she'd be gone.

Sitting with her chin on her knees, Four Fifty-one stared at the box. She had tried to keep herself from opening it, since she knew what was in it and it was safe in its packaging. However, that had not stopped her from peeking every once in a while. So far, she had only confirmed the color and that it was what she thought it was.

The box had little on it, adorned with only a standard courier label that read:

To: 451; L.A.F.-2; Sirius Sector

From: Dr. Sanjiv Ti; Medical; U.S.S. Labra; U.F.P.

But now was the time to open it. The transport ship she was taking had given the fifteen minute announcement. She couldn't wait any longer, and she wanted to have it out before they reached Earth orbit.

She peeled back the resealed connectors and lifted the packing inserts that held the device secure. It was metallic red, a color that she had recently grown to like. The pad had a series of three small screens, two that were square and a circular one in the middle. These made up the top two thirds of it, while the rest was one large screen.

Four Fifty-one pressed the power button on the side and it lit up, scrolling through a series of boot-up instructions. After a few seconds it stopped, resting on a default background listing several demo applications.

She selected one. It was a brief commercial for a vacation planet called Risa. She had never heard of it, but the advertisement made it look enchanting. The small round screen created a three-dimensional hologram of the planet and surrounding moons, showing their orbits.

Like a child she waved her finger through the planet, causing it to distort and reform. She smiled. When Dr. Ti said top of the line, he meant it.

The comm system switched on, interrupting her playtime.

"Earth orbit attained. Please report to the transporter room for beam down. This is the last stop."

Four Fifty-one quickly powered off the device, recycled the box and grabbed the small container holding her few belongings. She placed the pad carefully under the inside flap, making sure there was nothing that could scratch the screen.

Assured that she had it in a safe place, she lifted the box and proceeded down the hall to the nearest functioning transporter.

The line was shorter than she had thought it would be. There were only three people in front of her, and two looked to be together.

The first person, a man in a red hat and gray scarf, stood on the transporter as the control panel operator pressed a few buttons on their console.

"Where?"

"London, pad twelve-two."

The operator nodded and slid up on a series of controls. The man in the gray scarf disappeared in a soft shimmer of light.

The next group, a man and a woman, then stepped up to the pad.

"Where?"

The woman readjusted her bag under her arm, shaking her head as she talked.

"Toronto, Ontario, pad thirty-six."

The couple slowly faded away.

Four Fifty-one took the same spot as the two previous travelers.

The control panel operator reset the panel and continued his script.

"Where?"

"Starfleet Academy, San Francisco, pad four-zero"

The man looked up at her as though she'd just told him to beam her to the center of the sun.

"You sure?"

"Yes."

He shrugged and slid his fingers up the pad.

Four Fifty-one could feel herself warm as the world faded out. She had been transported hundreds, possibly thousands of times by Borg systems, but this was different. While significantly slower, it was less jarring, and felt more like a ride than a complex transportation system. She preferred this method, despite the fact that it was certainly less efficient.

When the world came back into view she was standing on another pad in a much cleaner room, as Starfleet officers and Cadets briskly moved back and forth. She had to be at registration in an hour, but there was something she had to do first.

Four Fifty-one nearly hopped off the pad and headed down the stairs to the nearest door, clutching her small box. She could see it now. It was just right there.

There were a few false leads as she opened doors that led to more halls, or to other rooms, but eventually she found the correct one. Throwing herself out the open door, she almost dropped her things on the rocks as she tore her way to the outcropping.

She set her box down, reached out and touched it.

Grass.

Four Fifty-one had seen the plant before in one of Nina's botanical books. It was native to Earth, though many other planets had similar plant-life. This was most likely artificially grown, but it didn't matter, it was as real as it needed to be.

She looked up to the clear sky while her Imager spun, desperately trying to determine the size of the room she was in. It was the clearest, most perfect blue she had ever seen. She may have been built by the Borg, but every organic part of her loved those two colors.

Laying down on her side, she could see both at the same time, the grass kissing the sky with each little blade. Within the contrast of green and blue, in that little line between the dirt and the stars, that was where she was. That was where this was.

This was home.


	12. Chapter 12: Acceptance

451

Devorah Quinn

_Now there's no place like home,  
To make me feel alone ._

_~"Afraid" Yellowcard_

_**-12-**_

_Acceptance_

While somewhat familiar with the history of the Federation and Starfleet, Four Fifty-one was nowhere near ready to be tested on it. She'd been cramming since early this morning, but felt no closer to her goal than she had five hours ago.

Everyone had been given a small packet at registration that gave a general outline of the entrance exam. It was definitely all-inclusive, spanning everything from simple calculations to essay-style explanations. While the mathematics and engineering problems would certainly be less than difficult, the history and culture questions were poised to be the greatest hurdles.

Aware that her mind was wandering, Four Fifty-one refocused on the pad in her hand. Continuing to swim through an ocean of text and pictures, her Imager grabbed snapshots and index them.

She was uncertain as to whether use of the device in this manner would be considered cheating. However, the device could not be removed, and would hold this information until she deleted it. If in the future someone held a gun to her face and demanded to know what the treaty between the Humans and Andorians was called, she'd probably have a better chance of recollecting the information than someone who had memorized it out-right.

It had become clear after a few moments of listening to the other hopefuls in the registration line that she was already far behind the other Cadets. Some spoke of having already taken the exam once or more, and a few recounted the schooling they had received previously in preparation.

They had years of work leading up to this day. She had a grand total of seven hours and twelve minutes.

Her finger slid farther down the side of the pad, causing it to scroll faster. She'd completely given up reading by now, just wanting to get as much information recorded as possible. Her Imager was furiously cataloging the words and pictures for later retrieval, and was slowly falling behind.

Four Fifty-one readjusted her feet on the box containing her personal items. At first she thought that was the reason everyone was taking notice of her. She was carrying around everything she owned in a container about the size of a small suitcase, as though homeless.

By degrees, it became obvious that they'd be staring at her with or without the box. Every passing person stopped, looked at her and subtly changed direction. Some would lean over to whisper, if they were with another, and point.

Initially, she tried to greet them, or at least make eye contact, but they would scamper away the second she turned her attention towards them. After a while she'd stopped trying to converse, not that she had the time.

The sun was wilting away as the clouds covered it, and a cold breeze blew through the small park where she was sitting. The fifteen-minute alarm had already been called, and the one-minute announcement was due any moment.

"This is the Global Environmental Control System: Rain cycle will begin in approximately 60 seconds."

Four Fifty-one placed the pad under the top flap of her box and straddled it. Standing, she lifted the container, taking special care to wrap her arms around it solidly. In the distance she could hear the clap of thunder as the storm rolled in.

The sky was almost entirely gray and the air became decidedly cooler as she made her way back towards the examination complex. She stepped inside just as the first wave of rain hit the pavement. Others were gathered in here as well, some in groups, some who had missed the fifteen minute warning and were looking for an alternate route to their destination.

On the wall hung a poster that she had not noticed before. She had wanted to find a place to sit to continue her work, but the stylized artwork beckoned her attention. After a bit of effort, she was able to weave her way to it.

The poster was about a meter tall, a single image held in place by an emitter that was attached to the floor. It featured a man in a Starfleet Cadet uniform standing in front of a large circle of stars wrapped in a wreath. He was reaching for the stars, but was being pulled down by a plethora of hands and tendrils wrapped around his legs and chest. The restraints that spidered over him belonged to a group of misshapen, faceless humanoids with green eyes.

Across the top of the poster was plastered "CORE" and at the bottom a stern warning read: "Don't support Assimilation from the INSIDE!"

Four Fifty-one turned and made her way through the mass of people to the other side of the complex. She was not sure what that poster was designed to convey, but she wanted nothing to do with it.

The examination room was not as packed as Four Fifty-one had expected, leaving a few seats near the back for her to quietly slip into. The desk itself served as the test booklet, displaying a timer counting down from five minutes on the smooth black surface.

A man in an oddly-constructed Starfleet uniform stood at the front. The rank pips on his collar identified him as a Rear Admiral, however, he looked rather young for the position. He spun on one foot to address the class, who quickly fell silent.

"I am Commandant Nichols, and I am here to give you a brief overview of this entrance exam. In about five minutes, that door will shut and your test will begin. Some of you have taken this before..."

Out of the corner of her eye, Four Fifty-one caught the movement of someone near the door. She turned her head slightly to see a blue-faced female peering around the corner. One misbehaving antenna peeked around as well, giving her away as an Andorian.

She brushed her chin-length light-blue hair back as she surveyed the room. The Andorian stood posed, as though ready to strike at a moment's notice.

"...and of course while there are a few definite right and wrong answers, we look at how well your answer fits with the proposed solution."

The Commandant turned his back to the class, and gestured to the board behind him.

"Now there are a total of three sections. These are designed to test general aptitude in each of those sections..."

The Andorian made a quick, crouched dash to the nearest open seat, sliding in and going rigid. She looked as though she'd been there the whole time. The blue woman pulled a lock of hair behind her ear as she took a quick glance back towards Four Fifty-one, revealing a clan tattoo that encircled her eye and ran part of the way down her cheek.

"The third section is primarily long-form essay questions. There are only a few of these, so do try to be as thorough as possible. Finally, as most of you know, the maximum grade is a 10.0; passing for this year is a 7.1. The average is about 2.1 for most first time applicants."

The Commandant turned and surveyed the room quickly with one hand out.

"Keep in mind, also, that passing the entrance exam does not guarantee admission into the Starfleet program. There are a series of remedial courses that all who pass will be required to take as well as unannounced tests that may be required of you. Any questions?"

He paused, but no one said anything.

"Alright, you have about a minute, and then the test begins. Good luck."

He headed out of the room, motioning to a woman in a long burgundy robe and brown hair who was hiding behind an overly-large desk. She stood with her hands behind her back, surveying the class, walking slowly from one side of the room to the other.

When the counter hit zero, the door to the room whisked shut and Four Fifty-one's desk flashed, displaying the first page labeled "Technology and Related Mechanics". It was nearly a wall of text, punctuated by a series of diagrams and tables. She picked up the writing utensil and began to answer questions.

The first set consisted mostly of clearly defined answers, some involving calculations that had only one outcome or one set of outcomes. She liked these best. There was no 'if' or 'maybe.' They were either correct or not, no in-between. It was short work through the first section, picking the most likely choice in the most efficient way possible.

The second section "Space and Subspace" was comprised of geometric equations that would have normally required a sketch of some sort. However, her Imager built them in three dimensions, letting her simply rotate the graph and select the appropriate points for her answer. A little trivia about the different planets, stars and other anomalies peppered the longer mathematics-based ones.

Four Fifty-one slid the page with her finger to the last section and slumped over her desk.

"Cultural and Sociological Studies"

She began to match questions with any relevant information available, slapping sentences together in the hopes that it would appear she had some grasp of the subject. There were large gaps in her knowledge, recorded or otherwise, forcing her to fill in the missing information with what little she did have.

Four Fifty-one cringed at the last sentence in the final answer, unable to re-read it to see if it made sense. This torture had to end. She swiped her hand across the table, throwing her over to a blank screen with the word "Submit?" flashing in blue.

She selected yes and laid her head down on the desk. She knew she had failed.

The crowd around the three wall consoles was fairly organized considering that there was no one directing them. There was still a good amount of pushing as those wanting their grade shoved forward and those that had their grade wandered back. The majority of the returning group had their scores on their faces. Though the terminals were meant to be private, it did not take much to guess who passed.

Four Fifty-one stood at the back for a bit, just behind a large metal sculpture. It took no form that she could recognize, simply spiraling up and out from the base, but it created a nice place for her to hide, unnoticed. Standing in the center of the crowd seemed to be a bad idea, given that she'd not seen a single Liberated since she had set foot on this planet. Though small, she stuck out like a sore thumb.

After about an hour, the people had started to disperse, forming into small groups to chat. Four Fifty-one set off towards the nearest terminal, moving swiftly through the crowd. She wanted to get the bad news and get out. The heads were already turning and the conversations dieing out as they took notice of her.

There were three consoles in a bent line along the wall. At each end of the indention a small alcove was created which was about the size of a person, and contained a small seat. The terminal farthest to her left was currently occupied by a man in a Cadet's uniform. She turned towards the one on the right, hoping the space between them would mean even less attention.

As she approached the console, a person came out of the crowd and rushed to meet her. He stopped just in front of the terminal, and started to type on it.

"Sorry Bog, this one's taken."

Four Fifty-one nodded and turned to the second, middle console. As she made her path to it another individual came out of the crowd and stepped in front of her. She collided with him, nearly knocking her off her feet.

The man was fairly handsome-looking with mischievous eyes and a wry smirk across his face. The kind of face that belonged to a con man if she had ever seen one.

"Oh sorry. This one's taken, too. I might be here for a while. I read really slow."

He turned back to the screen, randomly tapping on it.

Four Fifty-one took a step back and noticed that the crowd behind her had gone quiet. She had tried to be as unobtrusive as possible, but these two seemed to have other plans.

The man on the farthest right terminal had stopped even pretending to do anything, leaning against it and cracking his knuckles as though he expected a fight.

There could not be one. Fighting was already dealt with harshly. She had a feeling that if a Liberated laid a hand on an organic, not even a perfect 10.0 on the exam and a thousand admiral recommendations could get her into the Academy.

Four Fifty-one turned and examined the remaining console. The person who was standing at it was finished, but did not move. His one hand made a quick, concealed 'come here' gesture while the thumb on the other pointed to the small seat hidden around the edge.

She did not acknowledge his directions, deciding to simply follow them. Making her way through the crowd, she sat down on the seat in one of the indentions where the terminals met the main wall and waited. From her current position, she could not be seen, and if she understood the man's hand movements correctly, that was exactly the plan.

The crowd began to talk again, and slowly rose to its normal roar. The man at the third terminal kept his voice low.

"I'm assuming that you're 451?"

"Yes."

He tapped a few times on the screen.

"Okay, and your test number?"

"A-Five-Eight-Eight-F-Two-L-L"

As he moved through the menus, he leaned over slightly so he could see her. He could only catch a glimpse of her leg.

"I'm Brain, by the way. Engineering division."

"You passed?"

He leaned back in front of the terminal.

"I passed the entrance exam a year ago. You have to wait until you start your second year before you can take the Corp of Engineers written test."

He shrugged to himself as he selected the 'Entrance Test Results' option.

"But yeah, I passed. Means I'll be here for an extra year, but hey, that's the price of success."

Four Fifty-one did not respond, forcing herself to remain still.

"Alright. First section is Technology and Related Mechanics. You scored a 9.00. Very good. Are you going into Engineering as well?"

"I have not decided yet."

Brian nodded as he scrolled past the summary.

"Second section is Space and Subspace. You got an 8.10. Very good as well..."

He trailed off a bit as he swiped his way through more screens.

"...and the last section Cultural and Sociological Studies. You got an, ouch, 4.10 – Not a diplomat."

Her hand tapped wildly on her hip as the anticipation grew too great for her to control. Brian was still mumbling to himself as he sped through the remaining screens.

"Which gives you an average of 7.11. So, passing."

Four Fifty-one couldn't help but smile, though she managed to drop it once Brian stepped into her view. His brown eyes met hers as she stood, the gaze mixed with equal parts compassion and curiosity.

"Not an exemplary grade, but then again, passing is passing."

"Your assistance is appreciated."

He smiled and made his way back to the crowd.

"Maybe I'll see you around, 451."

She turned and set off towards the Administration building. Now, it was time to decide what she intended to _do_ in Starfleet.

The counselor was a weary old man who looked like he'd been doing this for some time. He dropped a few pads on his desk and began to riffle through them, his wild hair following his every strange hand movement. Almost all the shelves around him were filled with various artifacts of semesters gone by. Awards and old pads that looked like they hadn't seen use in years stood stacked on top of each other in the small room.

Four Fifty-one had been alloted 16:10 to 16:25 for this procedure. It seemed to her to be a small amount of time to decide something so important, however she had little choice. She sat down quietly in the padded chair in front of him while he continued to root through his desk items.

Several minutes went by and her Imager's chronometer made many references to her slowly dwindling timeframe. For once, she felt that she needed to say something.

"Sir."

The man jerked his head up snapped away from his desk with wide eyes.

"Holy-"

He let out a few explicatives as he returned to his pile of junk on top of the table.

"Scared the ever-loving crap out of me. I thought we were being invaded."

Four Fifty-one shook her head.

"No, I am here to select my path through your institution."

"Of course you are. I'm Matthews. I'll be your counselor, for now."

His hand was still shaking as he pulled a few pads out from under a pile beside him. The remainder toppled over sending a precariously-stacked tower onto the floor.

Four Fifty-one stood to retrieve them, but he held out his hand to stop her.

"No, no. Don't pick those up. Usually when they fall, they hit the ground in the same order. I'll get them later."

She nodded and returned to her seat. Matthews turned the pad over and began to scroll through it.

"Alright. So I'm seeing high math and science aptitudes, but terrible social/cultural scores. Probably to be expected; the Borg aren't known for their diplomacy skills. Your general medical history shows that you were a Tactical drone?"

"Yes."

He stroked his chin, thoughtfully.

"Alright, so here's how it works."

Matthews turned around and tapped a well-hidden screen on the wall behind him. Much was piled in front of it, but the main images could still be seen quiet clearly.

"We're probably going to do a standard four-year for you. You'll take a few remedial courses the first semester, and then we'll work on your Branch."

He tapped the screen moving it to the next image.

"First year is usually basics and Branch. The Branch you are in is one of three main ones: Engineering, Tactical, or Sciences. Yellow, Red, Blue, respectively."

The counselor tapped the screen again showing three body outlines each wearing a different Cadet uniform with various requirements listed underneath. He quickly moved past it to a chart displaying a detailed breakdown of each year at the academy.

"Year Two is when you can choose if you want to join any of the Corps. Year Three is specialization, where you get to narrow your studies. By Year Three, most have gotten all of their basics out of the way and are focusing on something in their field."

He pointed to the part of the chart labeled 'Year Four/Five'.

"Year Four is almost all electives. This is where you'll choose your specialty and further training if you wish."

Matthews turned back around to his desk and pulled another pad out of a pile. His ability to determine which stack had the device he needed was uncanny. It all seemed to be a jumble, but there was apparently a method to the madness.

"Right now, all we need is a general idea of what you want to do. So..."

He slid his finger across his pad.

"I wouldn't recommend the Sciences, considering that you haven't had the pre-Academy schooling for it. It looks like you could do either Engineering or Tactical best, or did you have something else in mind?"

Four Fifty-one stared at him blankly for a minute before she realized that he had stopped talking.

"I was a Tactical drone. The majority of my implants are geared towards that end."

Matthew nodded.

"Alright, easy enough. And any focus? Offensive, Defensive etc. This is all second year stuff, but I have to put something down."

"Defensive."

"Third year specialization? Starship defenses, planet defenses..."

"Starship."

"Okay, well that went quickly. And remember, we can change this any time you want."

The counselor stood as he continued to tap on the last pad he had retrieved. He turned it around and handed it to Four Fifty-one.

"Here is everything you need: Class schedule for the first year, dorm number and code, replicator instructions for your Cadet uniform and lastly, a copy of the Academy rulebook."

Four Fifty-one stood and grabbed the pad as he presented it to her.

"Allow me to be the first: Welcome to Starfleet Academy, Cadet Four-Five-One."

He held out his hand and Four Fifty-one shook it.

"And good luck."

Matthews took a quick glance at the implants on her hand.

"You're going to need it."

Four Fifty-one was assigned a dorm in a building some distance from the main complex, just between the Engineering Labs and the Firefight Range. From what she had overheard on her trek to locate her room, this building was not the most desired on campus. If the Firefight teams didn't keep you up all night, then the machinery in the other direction would.

"43229"

The door was worn with age, the numbers barely legible. There was no telling how many fingers had run across those numbers over the years.

She repositioned the box on her hip and leaned over to type the code she had been given into the keypad: "5-1-2-4-1." It chimed back in confirmation, whisking open with a squeak.

Four Fifty-one was greeted by an Andorian throwing candy into the air and then trying to catch it in her mouth. She met with little success. Most of it was bouncing off her face and tapping across the floor, never to be seen again. Some were hitting her in the eye, causing a quick "ow" before she resumed.

She stepped inside, letting the door slide shut behind her. Just as the Andorian threw a piece into the air she turned to look at Four Fifty-one. The candy landed in her hair.

"You're not here to assimilate me, are you? Cause I look terrible in black."

She broke a smile through her purple lips and started towards Four Fifty-one, hand outstretched. She recognized her now that she could see the tattoo; this girl was the Andorian that was late to the exam. In this light, her hair was such a light blue to almost appear white. It was accented by darker blue streaks that ran down it at haphazard intervals.

"I'm Vara sh'Sakahar. Most just call me Vara, or 'Hey Blue Girl' or a number of other things I'm not allowed to say to my grandmothers."

Four Fifty-one shook her hand quickly and released it.

"I am Four Fifty-one."

"Nice to meet you. Well, here's the room. Bed. Bed. Bathroom."  
Vara pointed to the two beds on apposing sides of the room, and then to the semi-translucent door that was situated on the far wall.

"We have these locker things, desk and replicator."

She shook her hand around in a disinterested pointing motion.

"And now you know as much as me. Which is precious little, so I am told."

Vara reached up, pulled the candy out of her hair and popped it in her mouth. She returned to her previous act of throwing the food around the room one mis-aimed piece at a time. However, it did not stop her from talking.

"So, what are you in for?"

"I do not understand the question."  
Vara decided to give herself a mulligan, taking the one in her hand and popping it directly into her mouth.

"Ya know, what are you doing here? Tactical, Science, other?"

"I am in the Tactical division."

"Yeah, I kinda figured it was that."

Four Fifty-one placed her bag on the desk that was not covered in candy and sat down in the accompanying chair.

"You did?"  
"Sure. They don't stick like Branches together. I'm Engineering, in case you couldn't tell."

She pointed to the yellow collar of her Cadet's uniform.

"And if you were Science, you'd probably be at one of the Institutes. They're dying for more Liberated."

Vara laid the candy box down, taking a handful out before stowing the box with the rest. She rolled up to Four Fifty-one, placing her feet on the bed.

"Of course, with CORE here, not too many Liberated come to the Academy."

"CORE? Clarify."

Vara shrugged and rolled her hand in the air.

"Yeah, Citizens for Organic Rights and, um, something. They don't like the Liberated. Think you were all sent here to infiltrate Starfleet. They're not as influential as they used to be, but they can still cause problems."

"Do you think their accusations are accurate?"

"You mean, do I think you're Borg?"

"Yes."

"Do the Borg eat candy?"

"No. That would be an inefficient use of materials."

Vara took one of the few pieces of candy in her hand and held it out. Four Fifty-one took it while looking over it carefully. The candy was a small orange pellet with a kind of crystallized coat over it, undoubtedly sugar.

"Try it."

Four Fifty-one put it in her mouth. It was very sweet, and had a mild citrus taste.

Vara smiled at her.

"Like it?"

"Yes. It was quite good."

Vara dropped the rest into Four Fifty-one's hand, and leaned back in her chair.

"Well, I think that settles it."

"Well, don't we look all formal!"

Dr. Ti was smiling on the screen. He was referring to the Cadet's uniform that Four Fifty-one had recently changed into.

She found that the uniform was much more comfortable than it looked. However, it lacked the many pockets and loose form of her previous attire. She had some difficulty getting the two tubes of wires that ran around to her Imager to fit comfortably between her neck and collar, but otherwise it was fairly simple to put on.

"This is the standard Tactical Cadet's uniform."

Ti nodded.

"Well, yes, but I think you do it justice. Besides..."

He pointed to his forehead in reference to her new bangs.

"...the new hairstyle looks better."

Truth be told, she had no previous hairstyle. In fact, she'd given no thought to her hair at all. It simply hung where it hung and stayed whatever length it had grown to. The only attention she gave it was cleaning it regularly as she had been instructed to do at the L.A.F.

Academy regulations required that it either be pulled back or cut. She concluded that it could be reshaped later if she wanted it short. For now, she put it into a ponytail, weaving it around her Imager where necessary. The bangs in front turned sideways keeping them just above her eyes except when she walked quickly.

She'd try to come as close as she could to one of the hairstyles used by Lois from "Oh! Ankhald!" but she had extra equipment that made an exact replication impossible. It also looked better with Lois's curly brownish-red hair as apposed to her straight flat-black mess.

"This hairstyle is sufficient. It attracts little attention."

He nodded thoughtfully placing one finger on his chin.

"Speaking of attention, how are you getting along with others? It's a big adjustment."

"The staff has been helpful."

Dr Ti looked off to one side and leaned forward, dropping his hand.

"I wasn't referring to the staff."

Four Fifty-one had wanted to avoid this conversation, but it appeared as though that was not a choice she had.

"There have been a few minor incidents. However, I was left undamaged."

Ti rubbed his hands and tapped them on the desk a few times.

"I was afraid of this. The situation there has gotten much better, but not as good as I had hoped."

He mumbled something incoherently which slowly turned into his next sentence.

"Maybe if I contacted the Commandant. I think it's Nichols now."

"No."

He looked at Four Fifty-one with one surprised eye.

"No?"

"I will deal with the situation on my own. There is no need to involve others."

"Four Fifty-one, I don't think you quite understand who you're dealing with. The list of things CORE has done to former Borg drones at the Academy is-"

She cut him off.

"Long and atrocious. I have no illusions about the danger that they pose. However, this is my problem to deal with, and I cannot run to my superior officer every time I have a personal issue."

She had lifted that last part from the Academy's 'Standards and Guides' section. She was unaware, though, if Dr. Ti had gotten the reference.

Ti shook his head and let out an exasperated sigh.

"Fine. But at the first sign that someone is going to physically harm you, promise me that you'll report to the nearest officer."

"If such a situation occurs, I will."

"Okay. I have to go. Now that we actually have crew, some of them insist on injuring themselves."

He paused and looked directly at her.

"You stay safe. There's no reason to get hurt on account of someone else's stupidity."

"I will. Goodbye, Ti."

"Goodbye, _Cadet_."

The screen flashed off and she turned around in her chair to the empty room. She rubbed her arm where it had been bruised the other day. The bruise was long gone, but a phantom of the pain could still be felt.

Four Fifty-one released her arm, grabbed the pad the doctor had given her and placed it in its protective sleeve. Carefully, she slid the cherished pad in between two other full-sized pads and laid it in the center of her desk.

Lying to Ti was not something she had wanted to do, but there was no way around it. She had no intention of keeping her promise.


	13. Chapter 13: Crush

451

Devorah Quinn

_Those who do not know how to weep with their whole heart do not know how to laugh either._

_~Golda Meir_

_**-13-**_

_Crush_

Four Fifty-one awoke in a standing position, something she was not accustomed to doing as of late. Her hand detached from the wall, and she began to walk forward off the platform, stepping down onto a metal grate.

In the haze of her return to consciousness she had just become aware that she was not in control of her movements. She was feeling herself in motion, but not actively participating in it. As her legs moved forward, she strained against them unsuccessfully. Step by slowly plodding step she was making her way down the dark green and black corridor.

She recognized this place. It was so familiar, a dwelling that had been her prison. A place she hoped she would only revisit in her nightmares, and not even there if she could help it. It was the inside of a Borg cube, and this was no dream.

The walls were a mass of black and green equipment, displays covered in a language she had wanted to forget. The commands, protocols, all had been etched into her over the years she had served as tool of the Collective. Placed in front of any number of the consoles, she could resume her work as though she had never been liberated. The thought made her shudder without slowing her advance towards the large device at the end of the hallway.

It was a transporter, filled with four other drones awaiting her arrival. They stood still as she approached and took her spot, not even bothering to glance in her direction. She had become so accustomed to being noticed when she entered a room, that the dispassion with which they ignored her was somehow unnerving. It reminded her that they were just like her or she was just like them. Either was terrifying.

The transporter activated, throwing them abruptly to the surface of the planet, as coarse and efficient as Borg technology could be. The feeling was a twisted combination of being at home, and being lost, as though both were true simultaneously.

When Four Fifty-one had rematerialized her group was standing on a grassy knoll near a fountain. She recognized this place, too. It was the Academy. In fact, the bench where she had studied just days previously was sitting a few meters from her. It was overturned, lying on its back, and like most of the items in her immediate vicinity, was covered in scorch marks.

She stepped forward, involuntarily of course, keeping in step with her four companions as they marched in the direction of the dorms. She was unable to move her head, but she did not need to. The sight of the grisly battle lay in front of her, bared out among the charred bodies and fires of varying hues.

Her Imager came on, but it looked odd. The display had been changed. It acted as though it was being fed information about her surroundings rather than actively building it. She was able to control some functions, but they failed to work properly, generating obviously inaccurate information.

When they arrived at the dorm, they were met by a series of phaser blasts from the other side of a large set of overturned lockers. The blasts hit them and fizzled, not even slowing the drones.

The attacking force consisted of a few Cadets, quite worse for wear, letting loose shots in uncontrolled fury. They were not crouching properly or checking their targets, making the few hits they did get in not count for much.

One of the more aggressive Cadets, a second year if his collar pips were accurate, jumped forward as the drones drew near. The boy landed a solid hit on the Reinforced drone, but it did not budge. The drone simply grabbed the Cadet by the throat, lifted him into the air and injected him with the tubules in his other arm. When he had verified that the Cadet was properly infected, he let go.

The boy dropped to the ground choking as his veins turned black and he succumbed to the assimilation process. Soon he would rise on his own, a new member of the Collective.

The remaining Cadets scattered, having lost the little bit of courage they had. They were outmatched, and they knew it.

Four Fifty-one's Imager listed the possible routes they could have taken. There were only three. The drones split, two to one route, one to another, and the remaining drone with her to the third. She made an abrupt right, following the drone she had been assigned to.

The path they took led into a lab of some sort, though most of the instruments had been destroyed. This was a dead end. Unless the Cadet had found another way out, or had taken one of the other routes, he was in this room.

As expected, the Cadet made the error of showing himself. He had mustered enough resolve to pop over the top of a table and fire at her partner. It was a surprisingly good, or possibly lucky, shot. It connected in his chest, dropping the drone instantly.

However, in the meantime Four Fifty-one had managed to move to his flank. He brought the weapon around, but fired too soon. The single shot he had time for missed, leaving him open. She backhanded him, with bone-crushing power.

The Cadet spun, landing face-down on the floor. He tried to turn over, but was met with no success. Four Fifty-one grabbed his shoulder and turned his head sideways, exposing the neck. He resisted, but weakly.

The tubules jumped from her hand, and connected with his flesh, pumping thousands of nanoprobes into his bloodstream. She let go as he gasped, and watched him struggle to maintain control.

He would fail. In a few hours he would rise as well. In the process of adding two drones to the collective, they had lost one. That was the source of their power. As their enemies fell, they grew stronger. They grew more perfect.

Four Fifty-one left the writhing body on the ground, exiting the room. She paused only to start the transport process on the destroyed drone. In a sizzle of green the drone disappeared, returned to the cube to be recycled.

She rejoined the drones she had left previously. The second Cadet had not been located, but it did not matter. He would be one of them eventually.

The group continued together, in step, towards the back door of the current complex. A small contingent of Cadets and officers had holed up in one of the bunkers on the Firefight Range. All units in the area were being moved to take the position. It was statistically probable that the gain in assimilated drones would outweigh the number lost in the altercation.

When they hit the outside, the air was clear and cool, a nice night on any other occasion. Now, it felt like a mockery. The night blissfully carried on, completely unaware of the war raging inside of it.

A Borg cube flew over their heads, extremely low for a space-faring vessel. Its black, patchwork body was accented by green lights scattered among it. A vicious galaxy in its own right.

It was firing towards something behind them, and receiving a pitiful bit of retaliation. A few phaser shots landed here and there, tiny pinpricks on the massive flat surface. The attack did not even phase the cube; it continued on its course as though it was but a minor aggravation.

The enemy quickly came into view, moving diagonally to the cube. It was a Dreadnought class starship, covered in scorch marks and fighting to maintain its height. The burn marks proceeded down the saucer and to the oblong hull which was riddled with holes. It looked to have had three nacelles at one point, but had lost one recently and violently. Of the two remaining ones, one was green and the other was blue, meaning the Borg on the outside of the ship were not the only threat the crew faced.

The cube slowed, turned towards the Federation ship and fired a whiteish-green beam in a swiping motion. The beam cleanly sliced off a third of the saucer, removing the one engine that was keeping the starship afloat.

It started to list sideways as its momentum carried it forward and to the ground. Though it was several kilometers away, the vessel was so large that it felt like it was right next to them. She could even see the hallways that wove across the ship in areas where the outer plating had been stripped away.

The ship crashed sideways into the ground, sheering off the other side of the saucer and taking a nacelle with it. It skidded for a long ways, snapping the buildings in downtown San Francisco like an angry kid kicking popsicle sticks stuck in the dirt.

After some distance it came to a stop, sideways in the earth, propped up in its precarious position by the trench it had dug on landing. The deafening creeks of what was left of the frame straining against gravity resounded around them, reminding everyone that it was not long before it would fall over flat.

Four Fifty-one lost sight of the ship as she stepped down into the corridors that made up the Firefight Range. Most of the work had been done for them by other drones. There were a few people still holding them off, but they looked tired and demoralized. It was only a matter of time.

They were standing in what appeared to be a shower room of some kind. Support beams were plentiful providing cover for the approaching drones. There were three persons huddled in the corner. Her Imager identified them as a human officer, Lieutenant rank, and two Cadets: a male Vulcan and a female Andorian.

All of them were panicking, firing shots blindly in hopes that they would scare their attackers and discourage them from coming closer. For most races this might be an acceptable, if inefficient, tactic. The Borg, however, never felt fear, and they never stopped.

A few more drones were lost as they closed in. More beamed in to join them, bringing their total number to twelve.

The human officer wildly eyed the room, seeing his fate shamble towards him. He flipped his rifle around and fired, dropping himself to the ground. The two Cadets looked at each other, stunned, neither firing a shot.

Two of the drones grabbed the Vulcan, held him down and injected him. He was strong, disciplined, and did not scream like most.

Four Fifty-one grabbed the Andorian and pushed her backwards over a set of boxes, pinning her with one arm and a knee. She was flailing wildly, trying to wrench herself free.

It was Vara. The fear in her eyes was deepened when she recognized Four Fifty-one. She was swinging her one free arm in front of her knocking the tubules out of the way, repeating the same phrase over and over. Each syllable got raspier and less controlled as Four Fifty-one crushed her windpipe.

"Please don't. Pleasedon't. pleasedont. Pleasedontpleasedont..."

But she could not help it. She could not abate the inevitable.

Four Fifty-one grabbed Vara's arm and twisted it until it snapped. Even with the battle raging outside, the sickening crack of the bone could be heard echoing as the sound slammed off the tile.

Vara let out an anguished scream that quickly died into sobs as she stopped struggling. Her body went limp and she gave in to the inevitable. The blue hair about her face stuck to the sweat and tears, clinging to her tightly closed eyes.

She turned the Andorian's head sideways and injected her. The arm would be repaired shortly, or it might be removed and replaced with some other device. Whatever her appendage's fate, she would not feel the pain for much longer.

Four Fifty-one screamed behind clenched teeth, pulling with all of her strength to be released from this immobile hell she had been forced into. She had hoped that this was a dream, but it was now clear that this was too real.

Watching as Vara's pretty blue skin grayed like death, she saw her become everything she hated. The rivers of black that ran across the Andorian's face turned her into something Four Fifty-one would not dare wish on another living being. Soon, by her own hand, someone would become feared, hated and unloved. They'd be just like her.

And she hated no one more.

Four Fifty-one pulled with all of her strength against herself, and something gave. She snapped backwards, landing on the floor, leaving her staring at the ceiling.

A Vulcan, with unusually pointy ears, leaned over her.

"Are you injured Cadet?"

Four Fifty-one quickly righted herself into an sitting position and examined the room. Her Imager was on, but dark.

She was in a large black room covered in thin red stripes that crisscrossed the entire area in a grid. There were two people in the room, a second year Engineering Cadet and the Vulcan, a Lieutenant Commander.

Four Fifty-one returned her focus to the Vulcan as the Cadet approached with a tricorder in hand. She forced out the sentences, fighting to keep the panicked stuttering to a minimum.

"Wh-Where am I?"

The Vulcan reached down and grabbed her by the arm, helping her shakily to her feet.

"You are in a holodeck, completing a required simulation."

"Required Simulation? Clarify."

The Vulcan stepped out of the way of the Cadet, nodding to him as he approached her.

"Part of entrance into the Academy requires that Cadets undergo a psychological evaluation in the form of facing your greatest fear. From counselor records, it was concluded that this simulation was the best way to elicit that emotional response."

The Cadet scanned her Imager before reaching up to remove something from it. The Cadet was Brian, the one who had assisted her in retrieving her test results. He looked quite pleased with himself as he began to explain his part in the affair.

"Between a series of forcefields and holographic images, we were able to make you feel like you were a drone, but the hard part was this device here. Building holograms of holograms would have thrown up all kinds of red flags. Built this cover..."

Brian snapped a device off of the front of her Imager.

"...to feed you information rather than have you build it on your own. It looks like it worked fairly well."

Four Fifty-one nodded grudgingly to him.

"It was mostly accurate."

"Mostly? Well, I'm never going to become any kind of Borg technology expert on just 'most-lies."

He spun the cover in his hand and closed the tricorder.

"Maybe you'd be interested in discussing it further, sometime?"

Four Fifty-one gave a flat "No." and turned to the Vulcan.

"Are we done here?"

"What is your greatest fear?"

She had thought that being assimilated again, returned to a single voice among thousands. She would lose all that she had gained in the last year to a single set of tubes in the neck. This was not true.

Once folded back into the Collective, she would be as she was before. Her fear was not of being the drone. Her fear was what she would _do_ as the drone. But, that still did not scare her the most.

What frightened her above all else was that everyone who hated her was right. Her greatest fear was that she was _still_ the drone, and would always be one. That each pitiful stride towards regaining the humanity she never had was in vain, because it could never be achieved.

The Vulcan waited a moment for her to respond, but read the answer on her face instead. As vicious and cold as the exercise had been, it had reached its goal. Some things can only be seen if you are forced to look at them.

"Yes, you are dismissed."

She headed out the door and into the corridor.

Her dorm was just upstairs from the holodeck. It was early in the morning, and the hallways were still empty. She could hear every angry thud of her boots on the floor as she made her way back, slamming the door code in with one rigid finger.

Vara was inside, sitting on the edge of her bed, gripping a pillow tightly to her chest. Her eyes were red, and her cheeks had turned purple. She took one glance at Four Fifty-one and returned to staring at the wall.

Several sentences were abandoned into her pillow before she forced out an audible one.

"You too, huh?"

"Yes."

"So, what was yours? Mine was spiders. Lots and lots of spiders."

She wiped her eyes on her pillowcase as Four Fifty-one sat down beside her.

"I broke your arm and then proceeded to assimilate you."

Vara looked at her quizzically.

"How's that _your_ greatest fear?"

Four Fifty-one grabbed the box of candy sitting between them. Vara had opened it but did not appear to have eaten any.

"It was not something I enjoyed."

She pulled out a few of the citrus candies and offered them to Vara. The Andorian took and ate them with Four Fifty-one as she wiped her face again. The purple was starting to recede, bringing her skin closer to the color of her irises.

Vara rubbed her neck.

"Now, spiders don't seem so bad."

"We've got a shortened class today, since I have a ball game to get to. So, we'll jump right into it. Last week I asked you to look at the sections for prescriptive and descriptive currencies."

The man at the front turned around and tapped the board behind him, bringing up a series of images representing different types of money. He wore a brown vest that pulled down and to the side with a pin on his collar identifying him as an Assistant Professor. His pants were a similar style, but dark gray with matching boots. While the teaching staff was not required to wear a uniform of any kind, this was standard fare for most of them.

"Now, who can tell me the difference between a descriptive and prescriptive currency?"

An orangish girl in the front row answered.

"A descriptive currency is one that describes the value of an item while a prescriptive one prescribes the value of an item."

The teacher smirked and nodded.

"Okay, that's a good way of remembering it, but it's like telling me that the blue sky is blue because it is blue. Let me clarify."

He tapped the wall again. Four Fifty-one took a snapshot with her Imager of the definitions that appeared.

"A descriptive currency is one that describes the value of an item as it relates to other items and services. A prescriptive currency is one that actually can become the item. Can someone give me an example of a descriptive currency?"

A voice came out of the class.

"Gold-pressed Latinum."

"And a primarily prescriptive currency?"

"Energy Credits," called out another voice.

The professor nodded, selected the announced answers and put them on the wall.

"Right, and why do I say that it's a primarily prescriptive currency?"

"Hey. Hey."

Four Fifty-one looked over to see a male Cadet give a short wave to her from two seats down. His sly smile gave him away as the man who had caused her some discomfort in retrieving her exam score. She tried to ignore him, but he was incredibly persistent, using every manner of gesture to attract attention.

Finally, she gave in and looked at him. He had his datapad up with the words "SORRY" typed in big bold letters accompanied by a crudely drawn happy face.

"...most advanced races, if they have any sort of economy at all, use a system built on prescriptive currencies. Now, of course, there are exceptions..."

The teacher continued on as Four Fifty-one was interrupted by the Cadet. He was holding up his pad again, this time with the words "I'M SEAN" on it. He was smiling as he slid his finger across the screen moving it to the next page.

"YOU WANT TO DO SOMETHING AFTER CLASS?"

Four Fifty-one shook her head, while adding a confused expression to it. This was a radical change of heart.

"...and that's why I said primarily prescriptive, since you can still barter with things like energy credits for things they cannot become. Can I help you?"

The professor was looking straight at Four Fifty-one, giving her a frustrated look. She started to shake her head and respond but then Sean answered for her.

"I was asking her a question about gambling with Latinum."

There was a bit of snickering around him as he delivered the line with deadpan seriousness. He flipped his pad face down onto his desk.

The teacher nodded and pointed back to the board.

"Please wait until after class to discuss things with your classmates. Right now, I need you to focus on this. However..."

He checked the time on the screen.

"...that time appears to be now. I want all of you to read the next section in the 'Economics Across the Stars' book. We'll discuss those on Thursday. Dismissed."

Four Fifty-one gathered her pads and stood, taking the route through the classroom that would keep her as far away from Sean as possible. He attempted to make his way towards her, but she was able to get lost in the crowd.

Once in the hall, she made her way as quickly as she could towards her dorm. She did not know what he wanted, but she was sure that she didn't want to find out.

She didn't get far. Sean was right on her tail, following her weaving path through the hallway.

"No, I mean it. I'm sorry."

He grabbed Four Fifty-one by the arm, stopping her for a short period. She looked at the arm and then back into his big green eyes. Mesmerizing.

Four Fifty-one shook the feeling off. She had to remember that she was angry with him.

"You will release me."

Sean let go, but continued to follow her back to her room. He was incredibly persistent.

"Come on. I'm sorry. I just wanted to tell you that."

They had arrived at her room. Four Fifty-one placed herself between him and the door panel so she could covertly enter her code, before turning back to him.

"You have said that. Now leave."

She stepped inside the door, but Sean followed, standing in the frame so it would not close. He had his arms out like he was begging for forgiveness.

"All you have to say is that you accept my apology and you'll go to dinner with me and I'll leave you alone."

"You will not bother me further?"

"Nope."

"No matter the outcome?"

"I promise."

Sean made an 'X' over his heart.

He was attractive, that much was certain, and she could use a break from the study-class-sleep-eat routine of the past few weeks. It may be a risk worth taking.

Vara came out of the bathroom, fresh from a shower, still working with her hair. She stopped, looked back and forth between the two with wide eyes, turned around and returned to the bathroom.

Four Fifty-one tossed the pads she was carrying onto the bed.

"I accept, on that condition."

He smiled and put his arms down.

"Alright, so tomorrow? I have Firefight practice in the morning and a class at noon. Sometime after that?"

"Tomorrow is acceptable."

Sean maintained his smile and stepped back out into the hallway.

"Tomorrow it is."

He turned and started down the corridor allowing the door to close.

Four Fifty-one sighed and sat down on her bed, causing the pads to slide towards her.

"Computer. Door, locked."

It chimed in response as Vara peeked back into the room through the open bathroom door.

"Is it okay to come out?"

Four Fifty-one nodded, laid back onto the bed and stared at the ceiling.

One antenna, two antennas and then finally a blue face sporting a wide grin slowly came into her view.

"So, you and Cadet Brady, huh?"

Four Fifty-one closed her eye and shut off her Imager.

"No. He agreed to leave me alone if I went with him somewhere tomorrow."

Vara rolled over onto the bed beside her and gave a knowing "Uh-huh."

Four Fifty-one shook her head.

"It's not what you think."

"I think you've got a date with Sean Brady."

She rolled her head towards her and continued.

"From what I hear, he's kind of a jerk. A handsome, well-chiseled, finely-toned jerk."

Against her better judgment Four Fifty-one let her self lift a bit. Maybe Sean _was_ interested in her, despite all the reasons he shouldn't be. He was so easy to look at, and she was, well, not. Maybe he was attracted to her.

Yeah, maybe.

This game was terribly confusing.

From what Sean had explained, the objective was to hit the ball hard enough with a round bat so that one could traverse the entire set of bases. When the batter rounded each of the corners they could be kicked off the field by one of the apposing team having the ball at the same position on the field.

The field itself was set up on a hill, sloping to one side, into the fences. They had gotten a seat near the back of the stands, where the pitch of the ground evened out. While she had not requested it, she preferred the distance from the crowd. Her Imager ensured that it was not any more difficult for her to see than if she was standing on the grass.

Sean pointed to the field where the players were lining up for the next inning.

"Now, they run around this diamond and if one of them makes it all the way back to home base, they get a point."

"What diamond?"

He stopped and looked at her, confused.

"The field that they are playing on, with the bases."

Four Fifty-one looked back towards the game and re-checked her calculations.

"That is a trapezoid, not a diamond."

"Well, right. It's on a hill, so its kind of off, but it's called a diamond."

Four Fifty-one nodded and looked back at him. He had his hands out as if he were going to pick up and rotate the entire hillside, his cuffs hanging down on his strong forearms. His casual clothes were a bit more relaxed than the Cadet's uniform, but still did a decent job showing off his physique. The red and black collar split to one side on his shirt, giving her a glimpse of his chest every time he thrust his left arm out. No matter how hard she tried, Four Fifty-one couldn't help but look.

She had spent all day selecting and discarding clothes from the replicator with Vara's help. She'd never dressed up for anything, having always been told what to wear. The chosen clothes were a blue and green set, loose enough to hide the implants that lifted off her skin but tight enough to show off the "important bits," as Vara had put it.

Vara was very insistent on the pants, saying that they showed off her butt and legs, which was good. Initially, she had been confused as to why this was so important. However, when one of the players ran to the home plate Sean had jumped up while she remained sitting. Four Fifty-one had newfound respect for the human anatomy.

He had turned back around towards her, clapping with the crowd.

"If you're not enjoying this, we can go somewhere else."

"Where would we go to?"

Sean shrugged.

"Just walk around? Come on, let's go."

He tapped her on the shoulder, indicating his direction, which was towards the doors leading out of the stands.

Four Fifty-one followed, covertly ducking behind any obstruction she could find. There was no need for Sean to be associated with her.

Just across from the field was a pond, where they seemed to be heading. There were very few people around, so Four Fifty-one increased her pace so they were walking beside each other.

Sean gave his trademark devilish smirk and looked at her.

"Don't worry about people seeing us. I'll be fine."

"Are you sure?"

He put his arm around her shoulder.

"Yeah, I'm sure."

Four Fifty-one nodded and slipped her arm around his waist, following his lead past the water's edge.

A dock had been made here out of several types of stones congealed together. It laid a granite-looking road that proceeded out into the water. By the time you reached the end of the path, you had gone a good fourth of the way to the lake's center.

From here, if you positioned yourself right, you could fool yourself into believing that you were hovering over the water. The pond stretched out in all directions around you, taking up your entire vision.

Four Fifty-one had the floating covered. She felt as if she could slide across the tiny ripples in the water all on her own. The water seemed as solid footing as the cloud she was currently on.

They both leaned over and looked into the reflection in the pond. Sean had his usual smirk on his face while she looked as stoic as ever. With his image beside her own, she didn't hate her reflection quite as much. Between the two of them, there was a nice even medium to be found.

Sean moved his hand over to her cheek, and lined her head up with his. There was a minor juggle as she moved her head slightly to avoid hitting him with the viewfinder of her Imager, but he eventually got what he came for. When their lips connected, Four Fifty-one felt like she could live there forever.

There was an audible clicking noise just before he let go of the kiss. Four Fifty-one looked over to find that he had a small camera device held out at arms length. She turned back to Sean for an explanation.

"Keepsake."

He brought in the device and turned it around, showing them together, lips locked. It was the most perfect image she had ever seen.

It was definitely an animal of some sort, like a pig, but with more tusks and hair than she'd ever seen. The animal was obviously edited into the picture, and done extremely well. All the wall panels had the image in various sizes. If nothing else, it was being well circulated.

The creature was leaning forward, eyes closed and kissing her. Other than that it was the same picture as Sean had taken yesterday, just with him removed.

Four Fifty-one stared at the picture for a while, trying to understand it. Had it been stolen from him? Surely he would not have done this on purpose.

She saw Sean down the corridor with a few of his friends, and moved quickly to intercept him. He saw her coming and stopped, looking at the ground occasionally as she approached.

She held the picture on her pad up to him as she stopped.

"What is this?"

He didn't make eye contact, looking at the picture and then away.

"That is you kissing a Targ."

"Did you make this?"

A tall, skinny black-haired man leaned over his shoulder and pointed at the picture.

"No, that was all me. See how the Targ looks like it was actually in the picture. That's quality work there."

She turned back to Sean. She couldn't put together a sentence, managing to push out only one word.

"Why?"

Sean shook his head, keeping his focus away from her moving on anything else he could look at.

"Listen, I didn't mean for the picture to get made. I wanted to take the picture-"

A short, beady-eyed man with an upturned nose leaned around his other side, interrupting him. He spoke loudly as he munched away on the food he had in his hand.

"He wanted that picture because he had to prove to me that you kissed him."

Four Fifty-one turned to address the man with the oddly-shaped nose.

"For what purpose?"

"I bet him twenty latinum that he couldn't get the Bog to kiss him."

He leaned his head over, pointing at Sean with the one free finger he had.

"Did you not tell her?"

He chuckled and poked him in the chest.

"Oh-ho! You are cold, Sean. Cold!"

The beady-eyed man and the tall one both laughed and patted him on the shoulder.

Sean finally came around to making eye contact with her. He did not maintain it a second longer than it took him to speak.

"If you want, I can give you a few of the latinum that I got, considering you did part of the work."

Sean was extremely lucky that Four Fifty-one was not her sister. He'd be staring down at half a pad sticking out of his ribcage right about now.

Not that the idea hadn't crossed her mind, but it would solve nothing. It would only prove what everyone had said; the Liberated were at odds with organics.

Four Fifty-one couldn't say anything to his offer. There was nothing to say. She spun on one foot and headed as quickly as she could back to her room. The entire way she could feel the stares as Cadets checked the image on their pads and then looked at her.

It was dumb to believe that anyone could be attracted to her. She should have trusted her initial instinct. She had set herself up to be crushed, and now she had to crumble under the weight of her own stupidity.

Yesterday she had everything, and today she was back to nothing. It would have been better to have stayed at nothing from the beginning. She would not make this mistake again.


	14. Chapter 14: Undercard

451

Devorah Quinn

_Pretend inferiority and encourage his arrogance._

_~Sun Tzu_

_**-14-**_

_Undercard_

Vara dropped her plate onto the table, making a crash that was quickly drowned by the bustling sound around them. The food court was always loud and crowded this time of day. Four Fifty-one preferred to come later, when there were less people about, but Vara had insisted on this time.

The Andorian sat down, picked up her utensils and eyed the food closely, as though a careful choice must be made. She took a quick glance at her companion at the table and motioned to her plate.

"Come on. Don't make me the fat one."

Fat she certainly was not, which was an impressive feat for how much the little blue girl ate. She always had something in her hand, be it candy, a snack or a mounding plate of food.

Four Fifty-one picked up a spoonful of the farm-grown beans she had selected from the line and took a bite. Despite Vara's argument to the contrary, they tasted just like the replicated ones and they were just as difficult to chew.

She'd been eating for over a year now, but she still hadn't quite gotten the hang of it. While in some cases, the food had a pleasurable taste to it, the vast majority of the time she felt as though she were wasting energy. The extra effort required to clean her mouth every time she ate was becoming a cumbersome chore as well.

Vara moved the food in her mouth to one side as her eyes got wider. She leaned over, waving at someone behind Four Fifty-one. The food in her mouth did not deter her from speaking.

"Hey! Over here!"

A man in an Engineering Cadet's uniform strolled around behind Vara and sat next to her. He laid his plate beside hers, repositioning himself on one of the small chairs connected to the table.

Four Fifty-one looked up long enough to identify the man as Brian, and then returned to her food.

Vara swallowed and pointed to a pink goo that made up one of the compartments on his tray.

"What's that?"

"Strawberry pudding. You want some?"

She curled her nose and shook her head in disgust.

"Looks revolting. How you Humans eat any of the stuff that grows on your planet is beyond me."

"It's quite sweet, actually. You might like it."

She shook her head again.

"No thanks."

Brian motioned towards Four Fifty-one with his spoon.

"What about you?"

She paused between bites, not bothering to look up at him.

"No."

"Fresh strawberries. I'll go get it for you if you want."

"No."

Four Fifty-one had finished the beans and moved on to the meat product she had gotten from the replicator. It was covered in a gravy that made it difficult to push onto the fork.

Brain gave a quick glance at Vara, who shrugged and returned to her food as well. He sighed to himself as he joined them.

"Last strawberry eater on Earth."

Vara stopped after a few bites and excitedly tapped Brian on the shoulder.

"Sorry, I didn't introduce you two. Brian, Four Fifty-one, Four Fifty-one, Brian Sarenden. He's going to be on my Firefight team."

Four Fifty-one looked up to see that he was smiling at her. He put down his fork, motioning towards her while addressing Vara and reaching for his cup.

"Yeah, we've met..."

He took a quick drink.

"...a couple of times."

A large male Andorain stopped near the table and nodded to Vara. He took a quick look at Four Fifty-one and then back to her.

"Interesting company you keep, Sakahar. Is your clan now allied with the Borg?"

Vara waved the comment away.

"Four Fifty-one? No, we just keep her around because the Liberated play a mean ukulele. We're starting a band."

The man frowned as he let out a snort and walked away. Vara smiled at the confused Four Fifty-one.

"No appreciation for the arts."

She returned to her food, and giving a haphazard point in the direction of the other Andorian with her thumb.

"That's Vjah th'Ezra. The Ezras and Sakahars don't exactly get along. Not that the Ezras really get along with anyone. 'Warrior Clan.'"

Vara made quote signs in the air as best she could with a loaded fork in hand.

"Ezras have lost a clan member in every major conflict the Federation has been in. Proud, arrogant lot."

She paused for a bit as she scooped up another helping on top of the one that was already weighing down her utensil.

"We'll be seeing a lot of him, since he's part of the staff for the Firefights now. Gonna be working with the weapons."

Brian did a quick clap, getting Four Fifty-one's attention.

"Hey, speaking of Firefights, we need another person for our team."

Four Fifty-one shook her head no, but he continued, undaunted.

"And you're Tactical. That'd be perfect. What do you think Vara?"

Vara nodded yes with a mouth stuffed full of food. She said something but it was unintelligible. Brian assumed it was an affirmative response.

"Do you know how to fire a sniper rifle? Once we find a sniper our team is done."

Four Fifty-one laid her hand next to her plate, food still on the fork.

"I have some combat experience with a sniper rifle."

"Perfect! That's more than anyone else we could find. What do you say?"

"I will-"

She dropped the unfinished meat into her plate, fork still attached, and stood before finishing her sentence.

"-consider your offer. Good evening, Vara. Cadet Sarenden."

She turned and headed to the door, dropping her remaining food, plate and utensils into the return slot.

Vara patted Brian on the shoulder.

"It was a good try, but she doesn't even seem to want to talk to you, much less let you look at her implants."

He nodded.

"Yeah, that is some..."

He paused, watching Four Fifty-one disappear through the door. Once she had left, he returned to his food and sentence.

"...very nice technology."

Vara stared at him for a moment, her mouth open just prior to receiving the food she had dangling in front of it. Her lips slowly turned up into a smile as she took the bite.

The path that Four Fifty-one normally took when returning from her classes wound around the back of one of the utility sheds that held the sports equipment. She liked to avoid the main paths as much as possible, and rarely did anyone ever come back here.

She'd stayed a little later than usual, studying a dynamics flow-chart that she would need for one of her classes that started next semester. While most of the computer terminals in the rooms provided ample access to information, the displays were not quite the size of what one could find in the library.

Announcements for the coming Rain Cycle cut her research short. She had only gotten caught in the rain once in the few months she had been here, and she did not want to repeat the scenario. She had learned very quickly that she disliked nothing quite as much as wearing wet clothes.

"This is the Global Environmental Control System: Rain cycle will begin in approximately 60 seconds."

The ground rushed up quickly to greet her as she hit the dirt, throwing the few pads tucked against her stomach around on the patchwork grass. It took a moment for her to realize what had happened, and even then there was a gross amount of uncertainty.

Her head hurt, right along the top. She looked to the side to find a sizable rock still rolling down the hill.

"Bullseye!"

Four Fifty-one looked in the other direction to see a few Humans and an Andorian walking towards her. They did not seem to be Academy Cadets, or if they were, they were out of uniform.

She crawled along the ground, collecting her pads as she attempted to stand.

A boot connected with her ribs, sending her over onto her back, and scattering the few devices she had managed to collect.

"I didn't say you could get up."

The man crouched down and looked directly at her.

"Ya know, if we hadn't seen that wonderful picture of you and the Targ, we would've never even known your kind was here. Thought all of you had gotten the message to stay away."

Four Fifty-one started to roll away from him slowly, only to find that another one of the humans, a fairly stout female with brown hair, had come around to her other side. She tried to get up again, but was met by the woman's fist to her face.

Four Fifty-one's Imager was already building Tactical scenarios and computing success rates. After all, this was one of the things she was built for. However, the second she laid a finger on one of the organics, that was the second she was no longer in the Academy. They most likely did not want to kill her, just intimidate her. Submission was the only viable option.

She laid back, cradling her face. It was minor damage, but it hurt all the same. She leaned her head over just in time to see the Andorian hand the human male something he had retrieved from the utility shed.

"Get up."

Four Fifty-one complied as best she could, not that she had much choice. The rain had started, making the little bit of grass that had managed to grow here slippery. She was already disoriented, and the lack of traction made the job far more difficult.

The item in the man's hand was a metal baseball bat, and he swung it like a pro.

Only the tip of the bat managed to connect, but it was enough to send Four Fifty-one spinning. She landed on her back again, this time in the mud that the ground had become. The rain was coming down hard now, drowning everything around her not just in water, but in sound. She could hear thunder cracking the air around them, or maybe it was simply the echo of the impact, bouncing in her head.

The second blow came across her stomach, knocking the wind out of her. It forced out a bloody cough, curling her up around the bat as her gaping mouth reached for air and only received drizzles of water.

The bat was torn from her fragile grip, and the Andorian leaned down over her, a giant grin covering his face.

"You shouldn't be here, Bog. Go back to your Cube."

As he walked away, his foot landed on the pad closest to her and snapped it in two. It was the red one that Dr. Ti had given her. It flickered a bit, threw up some errors and then fizzled out as the Andorian stepped on it again, splitting it into more pieces.

"Whoops."

He smiled back at her and joined his cronies who had begun to walk away, satisfied with their performance.

Four Fifty-one rolled onto her left side, placing her damaged Imager half into the pool of freezing water that had begun to form around her. She reached out and slowly collected each of the red metallic pieces of the pad. It was a long process as she consistently dropped some of the broken fragments when they escaped her wet, unwieldy grip. When her broken pad had been arranged into a pile, she clutched them to her chest as though her dwindling warmth might still save them.

The rain continued, as it would for the thirty-five minutes it was scheduled. Each blanket of water hit the ground and the pool around her deepened, flowing into her mouth and mixing with the blood there. Every labored gasp wheezed in and out as her breathing refused to return to normal. She hoped that she might be lucky enough to drown.

Four Fifty-one braced herself with one hand against the door, weakly holding the datapads against her hip. She used the standard pad as a tray for the pieces of the red one that she had managed to collect.

Her Imager had not returned to a functioning status, leaving her half-blind and further complicating the dilemma. She would need to move quickly and carefully to avoid questions.

Four Fifty-one lifted herself off of the door and typed in her code. Before it had finished opening she set off for the bathroom, barely slowing to drop the wet pads off at her desk.

Vara stood as she walked past her, pointing to the gash on the side of Four Fifty-one's face.

"Are you okay?"

"I am fine."

Four Fifty-one walked through into the bathroom and slapped the lock button beside the door. She could see the light blue silhouette of Vara's hand pressed against the translucent door.

"Are you sure?"

"I-"

She examined herself in the mirror as she searched for an acceptable lie. The wound on her face produced little tendrils that wrapped around each other like fingers and drew the sides together. The skin would be held closed by the tiny suture until it could heal properly.

She looked away. It was revolting.

"...fell."

Vara mumbled outside, crossing her arms and walking back and forth in front of the door.

"...fell down a flight of fists..."

Four Fifty-one pulled off her shirt and ran her hands over her stomach. The bruise was already starting to disappear, but the flesh was still tender to the touch. They had just managed to miss an implant that started a few centimeters under her navel and proceeded around to her side.

The side of her ribs, however, did not fare so well. The kick she received there had pushed a tiny thumb-sized implant into the ribcage, breaking the bone and permanently displacing it.

Four Fifty-one braced her head against the mirror, clamped her mouth shut and grabbed the implant. With a slow, steady pull she lifted the bone to be more in line with the others. The pain was almost unbearable, putting red stars in what little vision she still had.

A few drops of nearly-black blood rolled down her side and stopped at her soaked pants. She would need to breathe shallowly for a few hours while the damage was repaired.

Her Imager flickered on, displayed a bunch of bright-green garbage and then turned off again. As she righted herself, she could feel a little bit of water still sloshing around inside.

Four Fifty-one turned her head to see the Imager in the mirror as best she could considering her limited sight and angle. It was still largely intact, suffering only from a few easily-repairable cracks along the outer cage. She reached up and slid the undercarriage off from where the device met the top of her neck. A little bit of water poured out and hit the floor, adding to the pool already there. There was no organic matter mixed in with the liquid, which was a good sign.

She tilted her head sideways, hoping that the incline would let out any remaining water while she removed her soggy pants and underwear.

Vara was sitting with her back to the door, bobbing her head up and down while talking to herself. Four Fifty-one moved to the door and crouched down to her height.

"Can you assist me?"

The Andorian spun around onto her knees, looking through the distorted image in the door for any sign of a face or eyes.

"Yeah. Sure, what?"

"I require a change of clothes. These got wet in my fall."

Vara nodded as she stood, bolting away towards the replicator with the same level of energy she put into everything. She stopped at the console and pressed a few buttons.

"Padded Silk Pajamas, Cadet Four Fifty-one's size, no pockets."

Four Fifty-one protested.

"Those are not my normal sleepwear."

Vara leaned back to yell.

"I'm not talking to you!"

She grabbed the clothing and headed back to the bathroom door, holding them out at arms length while looking in the other direction. Four Fifty-one opened the door and grabbed them.

"Thank you."

"Sure."

Four Fifty-one retreated back to put on the pajamas, gather her clothes and clean up the water on the floor. When she emerged, she put her soiled uniform in the replicator and selected the 'Recycle' option.

As she settled into her bed, she reached up to remove the viewfinder from her Imager, placing it on the stand with the undercarriage. A pain shot through her ribs, causing her to wince as she slowly moved her arms back to her side.

Vara sat on the edge of the bed with her legs crossed.

"So, where'd you have this fall?"

"It does not matter."

"I think it does, but I'm not going to force it out of you."

She patted Four Fifty-one on the knee.

"Do you like the pajamas?"

"Yes, they are very comfortable."

Vara stood and made her way back to the shower.

"I wear those kind when I'm having a bad day. Figure if I made it through, then I should at least be comfortable for the end of it."

She paused and turned slightly.

"Oh, and I'll be gone for the next couple of days. Going to go look at some reactors and other boring Engineering stuff. Try to have your boyfriends out of the dorm before I get back Thursday morning."

Vara smiled at her as she walked into the bathroom for her own end-of-the-day ritual.

Four Fifty-one called out another "Thank you," but Vara had already closed the door.

Her Imager flickered on, giving her the last recorded image for a brief second before it rebooted. It was a picture of the pad that Ti had given her, being snapped in two by the Andorian's foot. She fought each involuntary sob with every ounce of her remaining strength. It was a fight she was not to win.

"Please sit down."

The man in the Commandant's uniform gestured to the seat in front of his desk. Four Fifty-one moved to it and seated herself, trying to look as formal as possible.

He laid the datapad in his hand on the desk and leaned on his arm. His perfectly-crafted, short brown hair did not move at all as his head rocked back and forth.

"You are Four Fifty-one?"

"Correct."

"As you probably know, I am Commandant Nichols."

"I am aware."

He nodded, moving his eyes from the pad to her and then back again.

"I have heard some disturbing news. I was hoping you could shed some light on it."

Four Fifty-one fought to keep the fidgeting to a minimum, wrapping her fingers tightly together in her lap.

"What information do you require?"

He stood, bringing the pad with him.

The Commandant walked slowly around his large desk, tapping the pad against his hand. He rubbed his chin thoughtfully, mouthing a few silent words to himself.

When Nichols reached the opposite side of his desk, directly in front of Four Fifty-one, he leaned back on it and presented the device to her.

She took it, while taking a quick glance up at him. It was a compilation of replicated and recycled items from various stations on campus.

The Commandant pointed to the pad.

"Read the last thing on that list."

Four Fifty-one scrolled down to the bottom, and froze on the item.

Nichols leaned forward, expecting.

"And they are?"

Four Fifty-one nodded and started to read the summarized list.

"Item 1-2-0-5-0 : Human blood and flesh infected with Borg Nanoprobes. Amount: 2 grams."

She looked back up at him, as he took the pad.

"Two grams is quite a lot of blood and flesh for someone to just shed. You want to explain that?"

"I fell."

The Commandant sighed and looked at Four Fifty-one sternly.

"Now, Four Fifty-one, I don't believe that, and quite frankly, I'm insulted that _you_ _think_ I should believe that. And, I have other sources that say that isn't true. So, again: You want to explain that?"

"I fell."

He threw the pad on the desk, where it clattered to a stop just prior to falling off the edge.

"Fine."

Abruptly moving from the edge of the desk, he made his way back to his chair. Dropping himself into it, he grabbed another pad and moved it closer.

Nichols let out another long sigh as he stared at the desk. He sat there for almost a minute, hands clasped to it, in quiet contemplation.

She tried not to move. Every noise that Four Fifty-one made felt like a betrayal to the meditative state of the Commandant.

After what seemed like hours, he looked up at her, with an expression that could only charitably be called 'Not pleased.'

"Four Fifty-one. I normally encourage independence, hell, I admire it like no other virtue. But, virtues become vices if they are held too closely. There comes a time when one person is not enough, no matter their resolve. A time when you need to look for strength in others. A time when you need to look for friends."

He released his grip on the desk and leaned back in his chair.

"I know you think you're alone, because you're the only Liberated on this campus. But you're not. The simple fact that I was alerted to this shows that there are some people who are concerned. You can't fight the universe on your own."

Nichols closed his eyes while he rubbed the bridge of his nose.

"You are dismissed."

Four Fifty-one nodded and stood, quickly making her way out of the room. The Commandant was wrong. She would handle this by herself.

She didn't need anyone.

She was glad that Vara was not here. It was much work to get back to the dorm, and with her roommate here, she'd have to do a lot more explaining than she wanted. For now, she was content to collapse in the chair and survey the damage.

By now it was a grim ritual. She would try to find another path back to her dorm, they would jump her, and then she would drag herself to this chair. Here she would sit, if she was able, and wait for the repair process to complete.

Her wrist had been fractured this time around. She had stupidly decided to block a few hits, but that just made them angrier. They hit her more and harder.

Her Imager was still in a functioning state this time, allowing her to select different implants and turn them off. She would need these eventually, however, it was best to keep the damaged ones in a 'down' state until she was sure they were properly repaired.

So far, they had brought no more weapons to the fight. That was little consolation, since it just seemed to take them longer to get the level of damage they wanted to achieve.

Four Fifty-one slid one of the pads on the desk out with her good hand and selected the message that she had received earlier.

The communique was from Three-Twelve at L.A.F.-1 and she seemed to be doing quite well. At least better than her sister.

Lt. Jameson had even managed to convince the Captain to let him stop by to see her on their way through the system. She seemed a lot more excited about it than she wanted to admit.

The rest was about Two-Twenty, who still was not acclimating very well. He went through spells where he was mostly lucid, but the vast majority of the time he was still, as described in the message, "like a drone." Three-Twelve feared that he may never fully adjust to living outside the Collective.

Four Fifty-one laid the pad back on the desk. She'd read the rest later. Her wrist had started to heal, and she might be able to make it to the bathroom to examine the extent of the visible damage. The left thigh would most likely have a bruise of some sort on it, as that seemed to be a favorite spot for them to kick her. The muscle underneath did not work very well either, giving her a limp every time that she used it.

She stood slowly, placing the majority of her weight on the undamaged wrist and lifting herself out of the chair. The bathroom was just at the other end of the room, through the door.

The first few steps took her to the edge of the bed, where she stopped for a brief rest. When she moved again, her foot connected with something on the floor, causing her to trip. The other hit the floor in a stomp, and promptly buckled. The knee went into the bed, skidded along the frame and slammed into the floor.

One hand shot out involuntarily, attempting to brace her for the fall. It hit the metal post and stopped. She could feel the recently-mended wrist re-crack, shooting fire up her arm. The elbow immediately went limp, throwing her face into the mattress. A small favor.

Four Fifty-one stayed there for several seconds, waiting for the throbbing to stop as she considered the least painful move from her current position. Gravity decided for her, pulling her off the bed and dropping her to the floor.

She cradled the wrist as best she could as she tried to turn over onto her belly. It took several tries, but eventually she managed it. With one arm and one leg, she made a pathetic crawl across the cold floor to the bathroom.

It was stop and go as she carefully moved the leg, the arm, rebalanced herself and then repeated the process.

The bathroom door swished open, letting Four Fifty-one drag herself in and place her back against the shower. The mirror was up above the sink, but it was going to have to wait.

"Illumination, zero."

The lights in the room dimmed out as she waited in the dark, alone. Every part of her body ached in an ebbing rhythm centered on each damaged area. It would go away eventually, but it would be a long process.

She took it all back. She wished Vara were here.

Vara dropped her bag near the foot of her bed and headed over to her desk. She rustled the disorganized stack of datapads there before deciding on one and placing it under her arm.

"So, everything go okay while I was gone?"

Four Fifty-one turned around in her chair, away from the screen she had been working on.

"Everything went as expected."

She paused for a moment before continuing, watching Vara dig through her bag. The Andorian disappeared farther and farther into it as they talked, like she was trying to claw her way away from the conversation.

"However, I was called to the Commandant's office."

Vara froze for a second and then returned to digging.

"Oh? And how'd that go?"

"Not as well as you had wanted."

The Andorian pulled her head out of the duffel and looked at her.

"As well as _I_ wanted?"

"Yes."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

Four Fifty-one stood and took a step towards her.

"I think you do, and I would ask that you not involve yourself in my affairs."

Vara scowled and dropped the pad into her bag.

"Yeah, I told one of the officers about it. What was I supposed to do? My roommate comes in soaked, covered in her own blood, and won't talk about it."

"I fell."

"Stop saying that! No one believes it. Everyone knows it's those CORE idiots."

Vara's face had turned a deep bluish-purple and her eyes were fiery with rage, something she had not seen her do before. Four Fifty-one leaned slightly forward, as though she was going to fight the Andorian.

"This is not something you must deal with. It is my problem. I will deal with it."

"Getting the snot kicked out of you? Is that your master plan? You going to just wear them out?"

"It does not matter. I will deal with this issue on my own."

Vara seriously considered punching the wall, but decided the pain was not worth it. Instead she tore across the room with her finger pointing and shaking like a mother scolding her child.

"I don't know if you've noticed, Four Fifty-one, but you're not exactly swimming in friends around here. Do you know how much crap I get just for hanging around you?"

"No. I was not aware."

"No, you weren't. You know why?"

She didn't wait for Four Fifty-one to answer.

"Because I don't tell you. Because it doesn't matter. Because you need friends, whether you like it or not. Even if they want to punch your lights out right now. And poor Brian..."

She stopped the sentence, as though she thought better of it. Four Fifty-one used the silence to offer her retort.

"I was unaware of the hardship I was causing you. I can request to get my quarters changed if you would like."

Vara rubbed her temples, which caused one of her antennas to twitch.

"I don't want you to change rooms, I want you to accept some assistance from people who want to help you."

"I do not require assistance. I will resolve the issue on my own."

Vara let out a huff and moved to the exit.

"We need to stop this conversation before one of us ends up dead. Probably me."

She stormed out through the door, which barely opened quickly enough to let her through. When it shut, Four Fifty-one threw herself back into the chair.

The door popped back open. Vara came in and stopped, looking around the room.

"Where did I put my pad?"

"In your bag."

"Thank you."

She nodded and headed to the foot of her bed to retrieve it and leave again. As she passed Four Fifty-one she pointed at her with the pad.

"Don't think I'm not still mad at you, stubborn Borg-lady."

Four Fifty-one nodded.

"Of course."

Four Fifty-one kept her distance and waited until Vara had broken away from the group of friends she normally hung out with. As she rounded the corner, Four Fifty-one stopped her with one outstretched hand.

"I wish to speak with you."

Vara tucked one of her arms under the other, leaned to one side and acted like she was reading the datapad in her free hand.

"Sorry, I'm scheduled to be angry with you for another two days. I can fit you in for a reconciliation on the tenth, if you want."

Four Fifty-one cocked her head.

"I was not aware it would take so long."

Vara poked her with the pad.

"Kidding! Go on. Get to the part where you say you're sorry and that I was right."

Four Fifty-one nodded affirmatively.

"I have been building scenarios to deal with my current issues. However, I am unable to construct a working one that does not include the assistance of others."

There was a brief moment of silence before Vara responded.

"Was that your apology? 'Cause, that was terrible."

Four Fifty-one straightened herself and placed her arms behind her back.

"I am sorry. You were right. I will need help."

Vara gave her a quick hug and released it before Four Fifty-one had time to react.

"THAT'S what I wanted to hear."

She started down the hall slowly as Four Fifty-one kept pace.

"So, what now?"

"Cadet Sarenden's specialization is Borg technology?"

"You know, you can call him Brian. I think he prefers that. But yes, he's taking an extra year in the Corp of Engineers to focus on Borg implant technology."

She faked a shudder.

"Whoo, all those extra courses, some of them Medical even. Too much extra work for me. I can't tell if he's a go-getter or just insane."

"If I requested it, do you think he would assist me?"

Vara slowed as they entered the dorm hallway and smirked at her.

"Yeah, I think you might be able to swing that."

When they reached the door to the room, Four Fifty-one punched in her code and they headed inside.

"That is good. I had assumed that I had angered him."

Vara shrugged and sat in her chair.

"Maybe, but I'm sure he'd forgive you really quickly if you asked nicely."

She dropped the pads on her desk with the others. The haphazard collection was closely reaching a critical point where she would either need to clean the desk, or lose a few to the floor.

"In fact, if you accepted our offer to join the Firefight team starting next semester, I'm almost certain he'd help you with whatever you wanted."

"I had intended to do Flight Training as the Tactical extra-curricular for my second year. Since I am focusing on Federation ship weaponry, I thought this would be most appropriate."

Vara spun around in her chair and powered up the screen connected to her desk.

"Hey, whatever you want. I'm just saying that you want his help, and we need a sniper."

"Then, I accept."

Vara looked back over her shoulder and smiled.

"I knew you'd come around eventually. Even though we don't technically start until next year, we're still getting together to practice next week. You should come."

"I will endeavor to be there. Will I need to bring anything?"

"Nah, not for a practice. We're just going to do a quick round with another team. Plus we'll need to go over rules and stuff."

Vara turned back to her screen, talking softly to herself.

"Brian is going to be _thrilled_."


	15. Chapter 15: Bulwark

451

Devorah Quinn

_First they ignore you. Then they laugh at you. Then they fight you. Then you win._

_~Mahatma Ghandi_

_**-15-**_

_Bulwark_

Brian slid the metal plate out of the recess it had been locked into and placed it on the table. He removed his glove while addressing Vara.

"Now, we'll just let it sit here for a while and discharge before moving on. You can do the same thing with this thing here, but that's only useful if we're modifying a phaser or something."

He picked up the small pronged tool he was referring to, shook it and set it down.

The door slid open and Four Fifty-one entered, moving directly to the table in front of the two Engineers. She stopped abruptly and turned to face Brian.

"I have reconsidered your offer."

Brian nodded.

"Yeah, so you're going to join our Firefight team."

"No. I was referring to the previous offer."

He looked at Four Fifty-one, confused.

"Previous offer?"  
"Yes. I am willing to discuss and let you examine the Holographic Imaging Unit in exchange for assistance repairing a damaged implant."

Brian crossed his arms and gave an intrigued glance to Vara before returning to Four Fifty-one.

"Oh? That sounds fair."

She pulled down her shirt on the right side and retrieved a small implant shaped like a crescent moon from near her right shoulder. It snapped out of its cradle which blinked green with a rhythmic pulse.

"This device has been damaged since I was disconnected from the Collective. I require that it be functioning again."

She handed the device to Brian, who spun it around in his hand slowly. After a few seconds he laid it on the table and returned his attention to Four Fifty-one.

"I can have it done in a couple of days, but I may need to discuss it with you further."

"What questions do you have?"

Brian shrugged, throwing his hands apart.

"Well, none right now, since I haven't started working on it. But, could you make some time tomorrow? Say, around lunch time?"

Four Fifty-one took a moment to respond.

"That is acceptable. I will meet you here at noon."

"Well, I have a different suggestion. There's a place just off campus here that makes a great stone-oven pizza. We could meet at the Computer Library and go from there."

She looked at Vara who was sitting at the edge of the table with a kilometer-wide smile on her face. She widened her eyes a bit and bobbed her head, trying to coax a response out of Four Fifty-one.

She turned back to Brian.

"You wish to discuss the repair of my Borg implants at a restaurant?"

Brian made a series of odd hand gestures as he attempted to put together his answer.

"Uh, I mean, soon be there as anywhere, right?"

Four Fifty-one nodded.

"As you wish. Brian. Vara."

She turned and headed out the door, as suddenly as she entered.

Vara slammed her hands flat on the table.

"I knew it!"

Brian picked a tool off of the shelf behind him and began to work on the implant, flipping it over several times.

"Knew what?"

"You are so into Four Fifty-one."

He lifted a small, round piece of circuitry from the device and placed it to the side.

"I just thought that a more comfortable environment would make the technical discussion easier for her."

Vara rolled her eyes.

"You are so full of crap, too. Besides, it's so perfect that it's cute."

"Cute?"

"Yeah, she's a Borgy-lady, and you're a soon-to-be Borgy-specialist. If she breaks, you can fix her!"

Brian stopped and slowly turned his head to look at her.

"You are a strange person, Ms. Sakahar."

"Yeah, I get that a lot. So, how long till her little thing is fixed?"

Brain tossed the tool in his hand onto the table.

"Now. It's fixed."

"That was fast."

He picked up the implant, placed it in a container and put it in his pocket.

"It wasn't actually broken. Just had an inhibitor on it."

He pointed to the small device he had placed on the table. Vara leaned over to look at it. It kind of looked like a tiny battery.

"What for?"

"When they liberate the drones, it's not always clear which implants should be removed and which ones should stay. Ship doctors aren't exactly experts on Borg implant technology, so they put these inhibitors on the suspect implants."

He picked up the small device and placed it in the nearby replicator, recycling it.

"If it turns out that the drone needs this device later, they just take off the inhibitor. If it's junk, the drone can have the implant removed at a later date."

Vara sat up straight in her chair, tapping her fingers on the table.

"So, why did you tell her a few days, then?"

"Two reasons: One, always over-estimate the time for the repair. Two, I had to get her to go to the restaurant with me."

Vara let out a short laugh and wiggled her finger at him while she stood.

"Ah-ha! So you do admit it."

Brian shook his head.

"I admit nothing."

She gave a quick "Bah," and headed out the door singing loudly.

"Brian likes the Borgy-lady! Brian likes the Borgy-lady!..."

Brain started to clean up the table, listening to Vara still singing through the closed door. It was a wonder someone hadn't killed that Andorian yet.

Four Fifty-one placed a piece of the pizza onto her plate. Brian had taken one as well, and was eying it excitedly. He motioned towards her with the pizza cutter prior to setting it down.

"Do you have to eat, or do you just choose to?"

She did not look up at him as she continued to contemplate the best way to start.

"I am equipped with a slot for a regeneration node, but there are none available here."

"How often do you eat?"

Four Fifty-one decided that beginning on the larger breaded side would be easiest. She picked up the piece and turned it appropriately.

"I eat once every other day. I am capable of eating less, however that schedule results in a loss of efficiency."

"I'd imagine so."

Brian picked up his piece and aimed the pointed side towards himself before taking a bite. Seeing this, Four Fifty-one turned the pizza in her hand to match his lead.

He laid what was left on the plate.

"So, which do you prefer?"

"Regeneration. It is more efficient."

Brian threw one of his hands up slightly.

"Of course. Can take the drone out of the Collective..."

"How does this relate to my implant?"

"It doesn't. I was just curious. Never gotten to talk to a Liberated for longer than a few sentences."

He wiped his hands on the napkin and reached into his pocket.

"That's a fair question, though."

Brian placed the container with the implant on the table.

Four Fifty-one had finished her piece and looked to the tiny clear box on the table as she grabbed another.

"How long until you are finished?"

"It's ready now. We can install it when we're done here."

"I thought you said that it would take several days."

He nodded as he returned it to his pocket.

"I did. I lied."

Four Fifty-one stopped for a second, halfway through the slice that was in her hand.

"Why?"

Brian shrugged.

"I had to come up with some excuse to get you to go to lunch with me. Are you saying you would've come anyway?"

She looked down at her pizza.

"Your assessment was accurate."

"I thought so."

Four Fifty-one finished her second piece and reached for a third.

Brian chuckled to himself and pointed to what was left of the pizza in the center of the table.

"We are Four Fifty-one. Destroyer of Pizza."

She stopped with the third slice halfway to her plate. He was correct. There were only six slices total and she was just about to the halfway mark. He hadn't even finished his first. She dropped the third piece on her plate and looked back at Brian.

"I apologize. I will stop after this one."

Brian scoffed.

"Don't worry about it. I've had plenty of pizza in my day. You like it, I take it?"

Four Fifty-one picked up the slice a bit self-consciously now that she'd been caught tearing through the first two.

"Yes."

He picked up the crust, and what was still connected to it, off of his plate and took a bite.

"Good. Now we have some common ground."

Brian finished the crust and grabbed his second piece, while motioning towards Four Fifty-one with his other hand.

"So, I figure we'll finish here, walk over to the Engineering Labs, and I'll reinstall the implant. Maybe have a quick chat about Borg technology, and we'll call it a day."

"That is acceptable."

He nodded affirmatively as he dropped the second piece on his plate.

"But first, we have an enemy to defeat."

This had not been planned well. If Four Fifty-one had been thinking about the implant re-installation procedure, she would have realized that her clothing was ill-equipped for such a job. Getting the implant out was easy. Getting it back in would require an extra set of hands.

At first she had attempted to pull the collar down, but this top's collar was tighter than the one she had worn yesterday. It would not permit her to simply move it; it would have to be taken off completely.

"Computer. Door, locked."

Brian turned towards her from the cabinet where he was retrieving a tricorder. Even though he was behind her, he could see the arms crossed as they grabbed the bottom of her shirt.

"We are a little self-conscious?"

Four Fifty-one started to lift up, being careful not to snag the clothing on an implant or her bra.

"I locked the door for the benefit of others, not myself."

Brian walked around the table, taking note of the implant locations and size. There were more of them than he had anticipated.

Seven relatively small devices were scattered around her back, joined by a few that were just under the skin and a large one on her neck. On the front, two were placed symmetrically on both sides of her ribs, a couple dotted across the stomach and one that was just off-center between her breasts.

When Four Fifty-one raised her shirt above her head to get it around her Imager, the extent of the equipment inside could be seen. The flexing muscles pushed sets of ribbed wires to the underside of the skin along with a series of implants that had been previously hidden by flesh.

The outer skin was hairless and white, accented by the black veins running through it. Brian couldn't help but notice that despite what could be considered defects, she had a well-shaped body. She was an attractive woman, just with few extra attachments.

He pushed the thought from his mind. He was here to install an implant on a former Borg drone, not to admire the landscape. Well, maybe a little.

Brian popped open the box and pulled the implant out, turning it to match the cradle it had to sit in. The device went in with a snap.

"Hold this."

Four Fifty-one placed two fingers on it while he squeezed in each of the manual levers that held the implant in place. Once the last one was in, the device lit up, blinking twice and giving off a high-pitched whine that slowly died away.

"So, are you going to tell me what this thing does?"

"I had not intended to."

Brian didn't respond other than giving a brief nod as he popped open his tricorder.

After seeing what he had from the outside, what lie beneath the skin was no surprise.

He'd read that the assimilation process had gotten more invasive, but it didn't quite hit him until he saw it for himself. Tubes and implants weaved their way around inside like an infestation of vines. Almost every organ had something attached to it. About a quarter of her entire body mass was Borg technology. That didn't include the millions of nanoprobes that ran through her veins so thick as to make the blood black.

"So, this implant goes from that device on your shoulder and down to another implant on the palm of your right hand."

"Yes."

Turning the palm over, Brian could see the small eight-pointed black star just under the surface. He tapped it, which made Four Fifty-one flinch, involuntarily.

"Huh. Well, it looks like everything is hooked up right. But, I'm guessing you're not going to test it right now."

"No."

He flipped her hand back over and noticed a small, round device on her skin situated above two small slits on her wrist. He pointed to it with the hand containing the tricorder.

"Hey, another inhibitor."

Brian set the tricorder down and picked up a tool from the table. He removed each of the thin tendrils that kept it in place and then pulled it off the skin.

"So, does that feel any different?"

Four Fifty-one shook her head no.

"I cannot detect any more functionality than before."

He held her hand out at arm's length and examined it more closely, picking his tricorder up and scanning the wrist.

"Maybe it's like an appendage. I mean, you've had these implants all of your life. Just try to use it without thinking about it."

The instant Brian finished the sentence, two tubules spat out of the top of her hand. They hung in the air for less than a second, the three fangs on the end of each searching for flesh. Finding nothing to latch onto, they snapped back into her wrist.

Brian was frozen, eyes wide.

"Uh, okay. So, um, that was a little creepy."

Four Fifty-one pulled her hand free and began to put her shirt back on.

"I apologize. That was..."

She slipped the shirt over her head as quickly as possible.

"...unexpected."

Brian returned to his tricorder.

"Well, um, they're definitely Assimilation Tubules. However, the implant that produces the nanoprobes has been removed. Not surprising though, usually that's the first thing they take out."

He paused as he looked through the readings, absent-mindedly grabbing the tool he'd left on the table and moving to put it up. When he reached the cabinet he placed the tool in the drawer and closed it.

"The Assimilation Tubules usually have three major components: The Neural Pacifier, the Nanoprobe Creation/Storage Unit, and the Injection System. The first disables the victim temporarily when the tubules come in contact with the skin, the second creates and delivers the nanoprobes, and the third controls everything."

Brian started to walk back towards Four Fifty-one, with his head still in the tricorder.

"You've still got the first and the third of those."

"For what purpose?"

He shrugged.

"Well, you could pop someone with those and probably drop them. At the very least, you'd give them a nasty shock."

Four Fifty-one clinched her fist, watching the tubes pop out, and then back in several times.

Brian dropped the tricorder closed on the desk and made his expression as stern as possible.

"Please stop doing that."

She nodded and put her arms behind her back.

"Of course."

She chose this route for the number of obstructions it had when approached from the side. Every four or five steps there was a large rock wall that hid the person walking down the sidewalk for a second or two.

It was a sad state of affairs, but she had this down to a schedule. It was Tuesday, a little after noon, and they always came then.

Four Fifty-one saw the first of the group as she rounded the small hill that ran behind the Administration building. At their current pace, they would be on her in a few seconds.

Pausing behind one of the walls, she activated the implant that Brian had fixed for her by tapping the device located on the palm of her hand. She had tested it earlier today, and it seemed to function properly, but its efficacy in practice had yet to be seen. Also, it required certain modifications to work in the way she needed for this particular engagement. There were no guarantees that she had performed those operations properly.

Her whole body flashed green as a series of devices located at various points on her body woke up. A soft hum vibrated to a standstill over her body like a warm blanket snuggling around her.

She continued to walk down the path, acting as though she was unaware of the approaching mob. Their voices dug into the air like knives, slicing towards her angrily.

There were three this time, all of them human. She recognized only one; the male that she had encountered in their first meeting. He had his arms wide as he approached, as though greeting an old friend.

"You're still here! I had to see it to believe it. You Bogs really are dense, aren't you?"

His friends chuckled behind him as he closed the distance between them, coming up to Four Fifty-one. He took a quick survey of the area for any witnesses. Finding none, he turned back, a vicious grin across his face.

"Ya know, you Bogs are really fun to beat on. You heal up really quick, and you're always coming back for more."

He wasted no more time on false pleasantries. Four Fifty-one couldn't help but wince as his fist came to meet her face.

And stopped.

Her personal shield activated, throwing the man back with a violent green burst. He hit the ground and collapsed, rolling over onto his back.

The others in the group took a step back, stunned nearly as much as the one in the grass. They took quick glances at each other as they tried to decide what to do.

The human on the ground rolled over and stood, shakily.

"...the hell..."

He was not deterred so easily, choosing to take another swing at Four Fifty-one. It was met with the same result, throwing him back down and delivering another dose of electricity.

He stayed down for much longer this time, breathing heavily as he waited for his strength to return. Pointing over his shoulder to her, he addressed the others with him.

"That shield has got to collapse sometime, someone go get a piece of metal or something."

The man was correct. Her shield was built to stop energy weapons, not physical attacks. She was fortunate that her modifications had held for this long.

Four Fifty-one received a message in her Imager stating that her shield was about to drop. She was powering it herself, which meant that there was no way to recharge it. Once it was down, it was over.

The human stood again and turned to her after taking a few steps back. He was disheveled, and not standing as sturdily as he might. His face was a combination of anger, weariness and maybe even fear.

She opted for different weapon: psychology.

Four Fifty-one held her right hand out to her side in a clenched fist, and started to approach them. She tried to look determined, keeping her body as rigid as possible with each solid step.

"You will be assimilated. Resistance is futile."

The tendrils in her wrist popped out and back in with a satisfyingly loud sizzle and snap.

That did it. The group disbanded, two took off in a dead run away from her. The man covered in dirt grimaced as he started to stumble away, one finger pointing back.

"We'll be back, Bog."

She increased her pace, following him. He sped up as well, his uncoordinated limp fueled by panic.

Satisfied that she had invoked the proper emotion, Four Fifty-one stopped.

"Threats are irrelevant."

Turning back towards the sidewalk she couldn't help but crack a self-satisfied smile.

The Borg thought of themselves as too perfect for emotion, above it. The terror in her assailant's eyes told her that was a lie. The Borg wielded fear like a sledge, smashing the heart before they laid a finger on anything else. The appearance of a single Cube could crush the souls of an entire world before it let loose one volley. It could crumble the resolve of millions with a mighty blow that hit nothing, but was felt everywhere.

It was not a power that she wanted, nor one that she would have wished for, but it was one that she had been given. The hammer of fear was her birthright, and she now knew how to swing it.

Vara tapped the case that Brian was setting up with one hand while popping it open with the other. It hissed as the air-tight seals came loose.

"And this is our weapons case. Two standard rifles, One assault rifle, and your sniper. All Federation, phaser-based weapons."

She grabbed Four Fifty-one's gun out of its individualized suitcase and handed it to her. It was a standard-issue Mark V Phaser Sniper Rifle, sleek and powerful-looking. The shoulder strap was held taut to the side of the barrel and stock by a set of spring-loaded rollers, which automatically retracted when not in use.

Four Fifty-one powered it up and popped the scope out of the top. This was a much better weapon than she had used on the L.A.F. It was longer, a bit heavier, but otherwise an improvement in all respects.

Beyond the aesthetic improvements, the control panel was more complex, allowing for a wider number of controls for her shot. The phaser bolt could be resized, remodulated or even be made to curve slightly while in transit.

The pad itself was a holographic screen that lifted away from the gun and disappeared when it was powered off. The blue buttons could be lit up for use at night, or dimmed depending on the need.

"Where will I be able to test this equipment?"

"Well, officially, you're not supposed to shoot it anywhere but on the range. There's no power behind that weapon. The shot comes out and stuff, but you can't even feel it through clothing."

Brian had come around from behind the container.

"However, you can destroy a sandwich with it."

Vara turned towards him shaking a finger.

"It didn't destroy the sandwich. The sandwich was fine. You threw it all over the place."

"You shot it while I was holding it. And don't deny it, we have camera footage from the locker room hallway."

Vara returned to Four Fifty-one.

"Point is, you can't hurt anyone with it. No matter how much you want to."

Brian mumbled as he walked away.

"...was gonna eat that..."

Four Fifty-one turned the weapon around and aligned it with her Imager. To calibrate it properly, she fired a couple of shots into the metal wall beside her. It didn't even leave a mark.

"How are we to win if these are our weapons?"

A male voice came from behind her.

"The computer determines hits, injuries and kills, and then awards points."

She turned around to see a Vulcan in a Tactical Cadet's uniform walking towards them. He had both year-one and year-two pips on his collar.

"More points are allocated for incapacitating an enemy. However, it is far more difficult to do."

Vara nodded at him while retrieving the assault rifle from the case.

"In theory, you can lose your entire team, but still win by points."

Four Fifty-one, looked back at her.

"What is the purpose of winning, if your entire team would be dead?"

The Vulcan took the weapon from Vara.

"This is an exercise to increase skill. As a Starfleet Officer, you should endeavor to avoid and discourage your enemies, not kill them."

Vara picked up one of the rifles and threw it to Brian, and then picked up one for herself.

"Like the Andorian saying goes: 'A fist that meets only air is both tiresome and wasted. Make sure your enemies have many, and you have few."

Brian shook his head.

"That _does_ sound like an Andorian saying."

Vara powered up her rifle and shot Brian in the leg. He jumped back with a yelp.

"Stop that!"

The Vulcan put his hand on Vara's shoulder.

"I remind you that firing a weapon outside the range is grounds for disqualification."

She huffed.

"Sorry, Thauk. My finger slipped."

She pulled her shoulder away and headed towards the range.

"Come on! Let's go shoot someone besides Brian."  
He grumbled, following her out the large door.

"Someone on this team is going to end up killing someone."

Thauk powered up his large three-pronged weapon and motioned towards the door.

"We should join them before they shoot each other."

Four Fifty-one nodded, leading them both out the door. This might be far more entertaining than flight training.

Four Fifty-one threw her back against the wall beside Brian and Thauk as shots flew over their heads, peppering the set of posts in front of them. Vara had already been rendered "killed," putting them down by one teammate from the beginning.

Thauk set his weapon to automatic while leaning towards her.

"They are suppressing this position, which means we must move away from here quickly. The most logical tactic is that they have their two riflemen moving around the sides to flank us."

Brian pointed to one of the short towers at the corner.

"Probably right. Four Fifty-one, you need to move to one of the towers while Thauk lays down some suppressing fire and I'll find my way around."

The Vulcan nodded and began to count.

"1, 2..."

On three, he spun up, placed his gun on the top of the small wall they were hiding behind and began to fire a barely-controlled spread towards the opposing team. Four Fifty-one and Brian parted ways, heading in opposite directions, crouched.

The second she became visible, all attention was turned towards her. A flurry of fire scattered around her. Somehow, she managed to move into the base of the tower unscathed. She would need to scale it from the inside to reach the top.

There was a makeshift ladder there, built of various metal objects bolted at odd angles to the wall. It was obviously created this way to be rickety, forcing the climber to focus on maintaining their grip above all else.

Pulling out the strap from the rifle, she slung the weapon around her back and proceeded slowly up the ladder. The majority of her time was spent searching for handholds, each more precarious than the last. She hoped that her team was not gone by the time she got into position.

With a great heave, Four Fifty-one pulled herself up to the top of the tower, looking down onto the battlefield. Though significantly elevated above the rest of the field compared to the other buildings, it was still not very far off of the ground.

The view from here allowed her to see most of what was happening. Brian had taken out one of the other team, and two were still holding down Thauk. The fourth, the sniper, was nowhere to be found.

Four Fifty-one lined up the shot on the man with the assault rifle, taking the time to let her Imager compute range. For the most part, these weapons had no arc, but they still spiraled a bit.

At this distance, her breathing and heartbeat were throwing the final resting place of the bolt around. She took a deep breath and concentrated.

Still not enough. With every heartbeat the cross-hairs jumped, throwing the shot quite a ways off. There was only one other option left, though she was sure it would not be enjoyable.

In her Imager, she selected the implants around her heart, and turned them off. Her heart slowed, and then halted altogether.

A starving pain grew through her, as muscles and organs quickly became aware of her treachery. She had less than a minute before she would need to start it back up again.

Four Fifty-one lined up the shot and fired.

Once. Straight through the head of the man with the Assault rifle. The computer announced through the loudspeaker "Red Team – Laras – Deceased." She waited the nine seconds for her rifle to recharge and lined up again.

Twice. A shot landed a little off, hitting the Bolian female with the rifle in the leg.

Again, some seconds later. This one hit the other leg as she staggered back and tried to move to another position.

"Red Team – Mara – Incapacitated."

Four Fifty-one couldn't take it any more. Her Imager was filled with warnings about organs and implants, some of which she didn't even recognize.

Rolling over into the small bit of cover a stump of wall provided, she selected the implants and restarted them. She had the urge to take deep breaths, like she had been drowning. Her mouth reached out for gulps of air while she waited for the implants to kick back in.

Slowly her heart started beating again and the pain receded. She was greeted, however, with a thumping pain in her head. The headache made it clear that this tactic was not something she could do on a regular basis.

Rolling back, she surveyed the field.

Thauk and Brian had located the last member of the other team, but the sniper wasn't letting their position go lightly. They were firing down into her teammates every time they tried to move away from the two walls they were hiding behind.

Four Fifty-one lined up the shot and let it go. It landed near the sniper, just close enough to get their attention. They fired back at her, but the shot was just as displaced as Four Fifty-one's.

The gap in attention gave Brain the time he needed to head inside and up the ladder to their nest.

"Red Team – Jeremiah – Deceased. Game over. Winner: Blue Team."

She stood, but was slowed by the throbbing in her head. The trip down the ladder was a difficult one as she took each step like an infirmed old lady.

She met Brian and Thauk at the exit. The other team was waving as they walked away. Vara thumbed her nose at them, in jest, while smiling.

Thauk turned to Four Fifty-one.

"You are very skilled with that weapon."

"Thank you."

"It was not a compliment. I was simply stating a fact."

"Of course."

Vara leaned on her gun as she returned her attention to the group.

"First one out. But geez, Four Fifty-one, you could've run the field by yourself."

"I doubt that. I did not get the first or last hits."

Brian smiled and patted her on the shoulder.

"Just everything in-between. You never said you were so good with that weapon."

Four Fifty-one released the strap so it snapped back in place against the rifle body.

"This unit did not want to oversell itself."


	16. Chapter 16: Penultimate

_Promise me you'll always remember: You're braver than you believe, stronger than you seem and smarter than you think._

_-Christopher Robin to Pooh _

_**-16-**_

_Penultimate_

Four Fifty-one took the first-year and second-year pips off of her collar and placed them on the desk for safe keeping. A few matches ago, she had lost one and had to have the staff replicate another. Besides, her pseudo-rank meant nothing on the field, nor was it necessary. Everybody knew who Four Fifty-one was.

The turn-around was over a semester in coming, but it felt so sudden. It seemed that just yesterday she was ignoring the jeering of other Cadets holding pictures of her with a Targ. Now, she couldn't get a hold of that picture if she wanted it.

She was Four Fifty-one of "The Vipers." A silly name, but Brian had insisted on it. He said it would strike them with fear. Vara said that if they weren't from Earth, it would probably strike them with confusion.

It wasn't as silly as the name her fans had given her: "Sniper." Less a name, and more a designation. However, it was short and concise. That somehow made it feel right.

Thauk approved of the name as well, even though he did not use it. He said it was good against the morale of the opposing team to have one of the only two nicknamed players.

The other was Kennel, so named because of his use of rifle-fire to pin people in. If there was a hand that she could play, it was one that included the fear card.

Vara jumped up to the mirror that Four Fifty-one was preparing herself in and took a look.

"You ready?"

"Almost."

Vara looked her up and down. The nearly-black uniform that they had chosen for the match was accented only by the red stripe across the top and on the arms to show team affiliation.

"Think we'll make it to the finals?"

"This match is to determine that. Our competition is well-trained. Some are fourth-year Cadets."

Vara nodded and turned her back to the desk, leaning on it.

"Yeah, but I like to think we will. I mean, how good would that look on our transcript? Especially for you and Thauk."

"That is true, however, we should not prepare for a future we have not yet created."

"Can't I hope a little bit?"

"I give you permission."

Vara laughed.

"You're funny for a Borg-lady."

Four Fifty-one gave her a intrigued glance and returned to messing with her collar.

"Are you ready as well?"

Vara shrugged and lifted herself away from the table.

"I guess. I'm getting dressed to go out there and get shot off the team."

Four Fifty-one turned away from the mirror.

"You are?"

"Sure. I go out there and get shot at while you, Brian and Thauk do all the work."

"You scored a kill three games ago."

"Right, _three_ games ago. I'm useless out there."

Four Fifty-one placed her hand on Vara's shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze.

"You are a fine addition to the team. I would not trade you for anyone."

"It's nice of you to say that but-"

"I am not saying it because it is nice. I am saying it because it is true."

"Really?"

Four Fifty-one removed her hand to put a glove on her left one. She flexed her fingers, snugging the mock-leather around her properly.

"If I thought that you were a hindrance to the group, I would talk with the Vulcan to have you removed."

Vara's mouth dropped open.

"You would do that?"

"It would be the most efficient decision. I believe Thauk would agree."

"But I invited you to the team!"

"Irrelevant. We are too close to winning the championship to carry along dead weight."

"Wait a second..."

Vara wagged her blue finger at Four Fifty-one.

"...you're just saying that to make me feel better."

Four Fifty-one slipped the right-hand glove on. The pointer and middle fingers were cut off on this side to give her more tactile control on the trigger. She used the sound of the stretching glove as filler to force the Andorian to wait.

"Am I?"

With that she exited the room, leaving Vara uncharacteristically speechless.

It was all Four Fifty-one could do to keep the smirk from her face.

Thauk hit the display, bringing up an outline of the field. The image cycled through variations as the Vulcan turned back to Vara.

"Now, this unit randomizes the layout of the field. It's not completely random, as there are only 4,382 combinations, but it does vary the field enough to ensure that two matches do not proceed the same."

The Andorian swung her feet back and forth off the edge of the console she was sitting on. Snapping her head back towards him, she blurted out the first thing that came to mind.

"That's interesting."

"Indeed it is."

Thauk moved over to the panel that she was sitting on and tapped her leg.

"Please move."

Vara scooted over while he started working on the console.

"Normally, Vjah and I would be taking care of the weapons, but the field maintenance must be done by someone trained in its systems. Hopefully, you will not need to work on these."

"Do you think Four Fifty-one and Brian will get together?"

The Vulcan paused for a moment, hand hovering over the pad.

"I do not know. However, that is not why you are here."

"Well, I don't know either. But what do you think? I mean, they seem to get along."

Thauk returned to his typing.

"I am beginning to think that you did not come here to learn about maintenance of the Field computers."

"No, I didn't. I just wanted to talk to you about them."

"I do not engage in gossip."

Vara flicked her hand at him.

"Pshaw. I'm not gossiping, I'm asking your opinion."

"Brian is a tenacious human. There is a high likelihood that he will get what he desires."

She slapped him on the shoulder.

"Oh, you romantic, you."

"Romance is not a factor. It is simply a matter of probabilities."

"Romance _is_ a factor, mister Vulcan, but I hope you're right. It'd be cute."

Thauk brought himself to a standing position, looking at the Andorian with one arched eyebrow.

"Cute?"

Vara shrugged.

"Sure. Brian's crazy about her, but she's totally oblivious to it. How long has he been trying to get her attention?"

"Since I have known them. Well over a year."

"See? Even _you_ picked up on it! Wish they'd just, do whatever humans do, and get it over with. They could sort out all the details later."

Thauk pressed a button on the wall, causing the viewscreen to shift to a picture of the locker room hallways. There were two silhouetted figures talking in the hall, one was obviously Four Fifty-one, the other looked to be Brian.

He made a silent 'come here' gesture to Vara as he watched the screen. She jumped off her seat and stood beside him, pointing at the screen.

"Speak of the devil! That's Four Fifty-one and Brian."

The Vulcan nodded.

"Indeed."

The silhouette of Brian leaned forward and kissed Four Fifty-one.

Vara started bouncing on her heels, here antenna sitting straight up.

"Oh my! Right here! Right now!"

Four Fifty-one pushed Brian hard against the wall and walked off. He stayed there for a moment, and then walked dejectedly away from the camera.

Vara stopped moving, putting her hands over her face.

"Oh no."

Thauk turned the screen off, and brought the field diagnostics back up.

"It appears that we both were wrong."

Vara nodded, leaning back against the wall.

"Yeah. It appears..."

The packing foam held onto the gun as Four Fifty-one popped the battery out of the side. The casing that held the battery was a bit heavier than normal. It was possible that it simply felt heavier since she was so tired.

She slid the sniper rifle sideways, into the recess that had been created for it, and placed the battery beside it. As little power as they used on the field, the charge in it was likely to last through the finals, if they made it that far.

Running her finger down the side, she admired the new decals on the weapon. Brian had gone to great lengths to get black streaks and the words _SNIPER_ written across the side in an overstated italicized font. It looked gaudy, to be sure, but it was a kind gesture.

As fine a birthday present as one could expect when no one knew your birthday.

She shut the case, and snapped the seals closed. The crew would be along shortly to take her rifle to storage. The little pouch on her side snapped out a finger-sized injectable which she quickly used and discarded. Her headache started to recede immediately, replaced with the nothingness that she took for granted except when she was hurting.

The damage to her right arm was starting to disappear, as well. It was a minor abrasion that went from her elbow to just under her wrist. It hurt, but her choice was between that and losing the game.

She didn't know how that rifleman managed to sneak up on her, but it was an impressive display of stealth. Too bad for him that it wasn't followed by an impressive display of dexterity.

Brian came in with his arms behind his back, staring at the floor. He looked as though he'd just been yelled at by his mother.

"So, um, how's the arm?"

"It is almost repaired. I should be functioning properly within the hour."

"Good."

He shuffled one foot.

"I, uh, wanted to talk about yesterday."

Four Fifty-one stopped what she was doing and turned towards him.

"I had assumed as much."

"Listen, I didn't mean to upset you. I acted out of turn."

"No, you acted like a human male, and despite my reaction at the time, I am not angry."

Brian looked up at her.

"Oh? So we're okay, then?"

"It depends on your definition of 'okay.' There is no animosity between us, however, things are not as they were."

Brian nodded, sheepishly. His hands fumbled with each other behind his back.

"Yeah, I guess that's true. So what does that make us?"

Four Fifty-one shrugged back.

"I do not know. I have not been in this situation before."

He took a step forward, just far enough so he could set one leg up on the table.

"Neither have I. I guess I just misread you."

"Possibly."

Four Fifty-one walked towards Brian and stood directly in front of him. He was a full head taller than her, forcing her to stand on her toes to reach him properly.

She cupped her hand around the back of his neck and pulled him down for a kiss.

When she released the stunned Cadet, he reluctantly pulled away from her lips.

"Possibly not."

Four Fifty-one walked around him and stopped just to the side of the door. He started to turn, still slightly crouched into the position she had left him.

"So what does that mean?"

She stepped in front of the door, which opened, and talked softly over her shoulder.

"I believe I am hoping that you will wait."

Brian braced himself against the table.

"I can live with that for now."

Four Fifty-one moved into the hall.

"Good."

"And so I used copies of the micro-relays from your implant to cross-connect those two components. Now, hold this."

Brian put the small cartridge back into the tricorder and held it in place while Four Fifty-one situated her fingers on it. Grabbing the binding tool next to him, he started to fuse the two sides together.

"Okay, so all we're waiting on, after this, is the remote unit."

He leaned over the top of it and examined the modified device.

Four Fifty-one removed her hands, so as not to obstruct his view. She leaned back, sitting straight on the stool in front of the workbench.

Brian licked his lips and rotated the tricorder around on the table so it was facing him.

"So, uh, any thoughts on us? I mean, no pressure. Just been thinking about it since we talked last week."

"As have I."

She took a breath and slowly exhaled it.

"This is quite sudden. I had not thought of you in that manner."

Brian nodded slowly as he pretended to still be examining the tricorder.

"Mm-hmm. You're not going to give me the 'Just Friends' speech are you?"

Four Fifty-one looked at him with her head cocked to one side.

"I had no speech planned. And we are certainly not 'Just Friends' as I do not kiss Vara."

Brian let out a snort and then quickly collected himself.

"Right, just checking."

She continued.

"I have, however, reached one decision."

He looked up at her as though he was looking over a pair of reading glasses.

"You have?"

"Yes. I do wish to pursue this. However, I am unable to determine how we should go about it."

"Weeelllll..."

Brian held onto the word while he made circles in the air with his hand and bobbed his head.

"We could go do something."

"Are we not doing something right now?"

"Yeah, we are, but I meant in a boyfriend-girlfriend kind of way. I know you like pizza."

He threw a smirk at Four Fifty-one which she fought not to return.

"That is accurate. I will consider your proposal."

"Good. So, if you don't mind me asking, how many relationships have you been in since your disconnection."

"Two."

"Don't count Sean."

"One."

Brian slid the tricorder to one side and leaned forward on the workbench, closer to Four Fifty-one. She followed suit, so they were less than a hand's width from each other.

"Only one? I can't believe that only one other guy has tried to talk you into a date."

"Actually, it was-"

The door opened and Vjah walked in.

Both Four Fifty-one and Brian snapped up to a more standard sitting position, but they were too late. The Andorian took quick glances back and forth between them before deciding to continue on.

He proceeded to the table and placed a small box in the center, giving it a slight push towards Brian.

"Here is the equipment that you requested."

"Thank you."

"What is the project you are undertaking?"

Brian slid the box the rest of the way towards himself and started to open it.

"I am using some Borg nano-technology to make devices such as tricorders more inter-operable across disciplines."

"How do you plan to do that?"

"Well, the main problem with all this equipment is that it's _all_ this equipment. If you're a doctor, you need three different types of medical tricorders. If you're in Security, you need three different types of rifles. There's so much equipment that's needed for every job."

The Andorian crossed his arms and nodded. Brian continued as he pulled out a small brick-shaped computer with a small triangle screen out of the box.

"So, what if you could have one type of rifle, or one type of tricorder that could change into another type on the fly?"

"That would be useful."

"Right. So, with the help of the Borg nanoprobes, I'm creating a tricorder that can rebuild itself whenever needed. The doctor can hand a deep-tissue surgical tricorder to an engineer and it can become an engineering tricorder."

Vjah drew another conclusion.

"Or, a standard phaser rifle could be altered into a split-beam rifle."

Brian turned the computer on by tapping the center of the triangle display.

"Correct again. Right now, I can only move back and forth between two presets, and only on this one tricorder, but who knows what the future potential of it could be?"

He tapped on the computer while pressing a tool on the open tricorder.

"Also, you have to be able to download the schematics from somewhere to tell the nanoprobes what to build. That's what this remote is for."

"Very interesting. I would be curious if the system could be adapted to other equipment."

"Well, I could send you some of the spec sheets if you'd like."

"I would like that, yes. Good day."

The Andorian turned and headed out the door, followed by a short wave from Brian.

When he had left, he turned to Four Fifty-one.

"That could have almost been confused for a civil conversation. Wonder if he's feeling well?"

"Possibly. I must leave as well."

Four Fifty-one stood, and walked over to give Brian a kiss on the cheek.

He smiled back at her while he tapped on the computer display.

"Don't do that too much, or I might get used to it."

She nodded and moved to the exit.

"I will endeavor not to."

"Well, I was just..."

He stopped talking. She'd already gone.

The match had gone how Thauk had said it would, with both sides losing most of their team fairly quickly. Though he had not predicted that Vara would still be standing and Brian would be out. The opposing team, The Minutemen, were remarkably vicious.

Four Fifty-one hated being on the ground, but in this match the tower had been put in a poor position, and she was flushed out fairly quickly. Vara rubbed up against her as she looked about for the other team's last remaining member, the rifleman Kennel.

The crowd was loud, a mess of boos and cheers that couldn't be distinguished between. Some were shouting useless advice such as "Get them!" or "Shoot better!" both of which were things that each team intended to do anyway. Reiteration seemed pointless.

"Okay, Sniper, what now?"

Four Fifty-one looked up at the scoreboard. They were losing by quite a few points since Thauk had been rendered 'incapacitated.' Both Vara and her couldn't be taken out and then hope to win by points alone. They could only win if one of them survived the match.

"We currently have numbers. We should split up and hope to flank him."

Vara shook her head.

"Uh-uh. Where you go, I go. You've only got one shot in that thing before he realizes what's going on and lays into you. You can't be taken by surprise and waste it."  
The Andorian was right. If she missed, it would be a full nine seconds before she would be able to fire again. Kennel would have all the time he needed to tear into her.

"You are correct. Come, we must find a better vantage point."

She took off in a crouched run, Vara in tow, around a wall. Kennel spotted them instantly, and sent a barrage of fire down the alleyway they had taken. He didn't let up, keeping them pinned at the end of the open corridor.

Vara cringed on the other side of the door from Four Fifty-one.

"I hope this is the place you wanted."

"Unfortunately, it is not. I had hoped to get on top of that roof."

She pointed to a short building some ways over.

Vara attempted to look out, but a shot landed on the door-frame, discouraging her. Kennel had an uncanny ability to tell when someone was about to move and remind them that he was still watching. His name was well-deserved.

The rifleman was walking slowly towards them, letting a few bolts loose with each couple of steps. He was most likely going to take them out one at a time when he got close enough to do some sniping himself.

Vara leaned over, crouching like she was getting ready to pounce.

"Sniper, I'm going to jump out and get his attention. You fire when he shoots at me."

"He may shoot both of us."

"So what's your other plan?"

Four Fifty-one did not have one.

The Andorian smirked at her.

"That's what I thought. On three. One... two..."

Vara jumped into the open corridor, screaming and firing wildly at Kennel. The shots were poorly aimed and not a one hit.

He pivoted on one foot, thrusting his gun forward to lay one shot in Vara's chest.

Four Fifty-one spun as she stood, placing the rifle on the Andorian's shoulder and taking a place behind her.

"Vipers – Vara – Deceased."

Kennel fired two more shots but both landed on Vara.

Four Fifty-one returned the favor, placing one right between his eyes. He stumbled back as the flash of the shot connecting forced him to wince away.

He pointed towards Vara and Four Fifty-one with his weapon.

"Computer! Complaint!"

The computer voice boomed out over the field causing the bystanders to become quieter.

"Please state the nature of the complaint."

"Not fair, she was out! Can't use her as a shield."

There was a pause as the computer worked. A murmur rolled around them.

"Calculations indicate that player Vara would have been able to remain standing in her current position for three-point-seven seconds after the kill was announced. Complaint – Invalid. Minutemen – Kennel – Deceased. Vipers Win."

The crowd exploded. People were throwing things out of the stands, clapping and yelling. Four Fifty-one took a second to revel in it. They were actually cheering for her.

Vara spun around and hugged her while bouncing up and down.

"We're in the Championship! We're in the Championship!"

Four Fifty-one put her hand on the blue woman's shoulder and stopped her for a second, looking her in the eye.

"Yes. _We_ are."

The locker rooms were packed. Four Fifty-one was fairly certain that the majority of these people did not belong here, but there was no way she was going to expel them. Most were congratulating her or asking the same questions repeatedly.

"How do you feel?"

"Good."

"Are you keeping the same team for the Championship?"

"Yes."

Four Fifty-one turned towards Vara, who had followed her into the room.

"Here is the official spokesperson for this team."

Vara looked at her, confused.

"I am?"

"You are now."

She pushed the Andorian in front of her and took off before anyone had a chance to react. Four Fifty-one could hear the conversation behind her as she headed back towards the supply closets.

"Why yes, the idea for using me as a shield was my idea. It first came to me when..."

The hallway itself landed in a dead end, the only light coming from the permanently open door at the opposite side of the entrance. Brian was leaning against the wall in the corridor, arms crossed. He acknowledge her with a slight wave.

"Vara and Thauk still out there?"

Four Fifty-one stopped in front of him.

"Yes. I left Vara in charge of answering questions."

"Oh, she'll love all that attention."

"I had surmised that as well."

Brian lifted himself off the wall and took a half-step towards Four Fifty-one, placing him within centimeters of her.

"Well, we're stuck here until they leave. Nowhere to go except into one of these closets."

He reached over behind her and hit one of the panels on the door, opening it up. It was quite a bit larger than she had guessed. Various pieces of equipment were laid against the walls and on the shelves, dusty with age.

Brian took her by the arm and pulled her inside, grasping her lips with his. If she didn't know better, she'd say he'd planned this.

Four Fifty-one pulled herself off, trying to find him in the dimming light.

"It's dark in here."

"Is that a problem?"

"No."

She was more aggressive this time, pushing Brian back to the shelf on the wall. The stuff on it shook and a few pieces of some metal object hit the floor. They did not slow.

Four Fifty-one could not help herself. She could feel the tightly wound spring begin to untwist, all the energy flowing out and forcing her hands to move. She had no command of herself, and she did not care.

He touched her and she touched back, an improvisational orchestra of which her rational mind had relinquished control. She did not fear the chaos as much as she had guessed. It felt like it was supposed to feel, but it was too fast. She couldn't hurt him like she did Nine.

Four Fifty-one pulled herself back, placing one hand against his chest. Excitement and fear mixed in her voice, crumbling her usually-solid speech.

"I-I can't do this. Not yet."

The door swished open and the light came on.

"Well maybe they went-"

Vara stopped dead in her tracks. The smile that grew across her face was so wide as to almost engulf it.

"Hi."

Four Fifty-one put down her leg that had somehow found its way up on the shelf behind Brian.

He collected himself briefly.

"Uh, hi, Vara."

She took a quick look back and forth between the two and yelled over her shoulder.

"They're not down here. Probably went back to the dorms, or something."

Vara slapped the door panel with one hand while giving a short wave with the other.

It clunked shut and chimed.

Brian put one of his hands on the shelf behind them as the light began to fade. He placed his other arm around her neck and pulled her in for a quick kiss.

"You were saying?"

"We must not do this. I'm sorry."

He gave her a quick kiss on the forehead, and staid there for a moment.

"Don't apologize, it's fine. We have time."


	17. Chapter 17: Quisling

451

Devorah Quinn

_One should never do anything one cannot talk about after dinner._

_-Oscar Wilde_

_**-17-**_

_Quisling_

"The admittance policy must be set sufficiently high to discourage those hostile to the Federation from trying to admit infiltrators."

The Vulcan had a cup of tea in his hand which he held unusually still for such a heated debate. His opponent, Brian, was not so calm, constantly fidgeting and moving his arms around in stiff gestures. It did not help that their new uniforms for tonight's match were tighter than normal.

"Right, but we can't go around denying entire races or groups access to Starfleet Academy simply because we're at war with their home planet. Some people disagree with the actions of their government, and these people might be useful in our conflict with them."

Thauk nodded and carefully set down his tea.

"I see no reason why we cannot deny access for a group of people. If we are at war with them, then we must take precautions against such an infiltration. We are most definitely at war with the Borg."

"But we're not at war with the Liberated. Once they're disconnected from the Collective, they're no longer under their control."

"Then we should allow former Klingon generals to join Starfleet as well."

Brian waved his hand vigorously in the air.

"That's different."

"How so? They are no longer under control of the Klingon High Command, and therefor, under your definition, able to join Starfleet."

"They could still rejoin the Klingon Empire."

The Vulcan picked his tea back up, took a sip and returned it to the table.

"There are many instances where former Borg drones have attempted to rejoin the Collective, even years after their Liberation. The information they might carry back could be a significant security risk."

"The Liberated go back to the Collective because they don't assimilate well into our society. The Klingon generals would go back because of loyalty."

"The Klingons could return to the Empire because they did not assimilate into our society well."

Halfway through the last sentence, the door opened and Vara stepped in. She returned to her seat on the other side of the two arguing, rolling her eyes.

"Are you two still going on about this?"

Brian angrily took a bite out of the donut that he had been neglecting ever since he had gotten it from the replicator.

"Yes, because this Vulcan here is apparently in agreement with CORE."

"That is not accurate. I simply understand their reasoning for believing that the Liberated are a liability."

Thauk had re-grabbed his cup and was preparing to take another drink.

"I do not agree with CORE, at least to the degree that they single out a particular group. CORE's motives go far beyond the need for security. You and I agree on this point."

"Then why are we having this conversation?"

"Because your conclusions, while symmetrical with mine, are founded on bad rationals. One who is on your side, but for the wrong reasons, is little better than an enemy."

Four Fifty-one entered, still straightening her uniform and readjusting the gloves. She stopped, taking a look around to her staring teammates.

Vara did a silent clap before speaking.

"At least one of us looks good in the new uniforms."

Brian nodded as he dropped his donut on the plate.

"Yes, one of us does."

Four Fifty-one ignored the comment and turned to Thauk.

"We are needed in the booth before the match starts."

The Vulcan returned the remainder of his drink to the replicator, and followed her out the door.

Vara waited until well after they were gone before starting in on her line of questioning, striking the armrests of the chair before starting.

"So, you and Four Fifty-one. You guys..."

She spun her finger and looked upwards as though that was supposed to convey the rest of the sentence.

Brian turned to look at her, confused. After a brief pause, he got her meaning.

"Oh, no. No. Definitely not."

He looked back at the floor.

"No. Why do you ask?"

"Well the storage closet, and the position and everything."

"The position? Standing?"

Vara raised one eyebrow and dropped the other.

"Is that not how humans..."

"No. I mean, we can, but it's not preferred. I mean, it might be preferred. I don't know. I mean, for her-"

She held out her hands and winced.

"Stop. You're making me nervous."

"Why didn't you just ask Four Fifty-one?"

"She would never tell me."

Vara stood and patted the stunned Brian on the shoulder as she passed him.

"Humans: not standing up. Learn something new every day."

Four Fifty-one came down into the locker rooms as close to the start of the game as she was able. If there was anything she did not want to be bothered with, it was the group of people that huddled around the doors before the match. There was nothing she could tell them that they did not already know.

As she entered, she adjusted her shirt around her stomach. This new outfit was not made to accommodate implants, riding up every time she lifted her arms.

Vara ran to her, smiling as always.

"Oh good! I thought you weren't going to show."

"I wished to avoid the crowds."

Brian walked towards her, weapon in hand.

"Wish I'd thought of that. Spent ten minutes just trying to get down here."

She moved to her sniper rifle, which was sitting in its open case on the stand. Brian followed her to it.

"I was going to have it cleaned, but I couldn't get here in time."

"It works just as well dirty."

Four Fifty-one placed one hand on stock and looked back at him.

"However, thank you for considering it."

She pulled the weapon out and examined it. The scuff marks and streaks of dirt were a welcome addition to the paint job. This was her rifle, and every imperfection made it more like her. A powerful, but ultimately harmless, weapon with enough aesthetic problems to make it unique.

Brian shrugged as he walked away.

"Well, best intentions."

As she took the heavy battery out of the foam, Thauk came around the side, holding the case for his own assault rifle. He dropped it on the nearest table and began to open it while addressing her.

"Vjah was ill today. I have been running behind on preparing the weaponry for the match."

Four Fifty-one slapped the battery into the weapon, but it didn't click in properly.

"How long until the match starts?"

"Three minutes and twenty-seven seconds."

She tried to put the battery in again, but it slid back out.

"There appears to be something wrong."

She tried again, pulling it all the way out, checking the pins and then pushing it in harder. This time it clicked, and the gun powered up.

"I was mistaken. It appears to be working properly now."

Thauk gave it a quick tug to make sure.

"Perhaps it requires replacement. You have been using that same battery since our first match."

Four Fifty-one nodded to him.

"Perhaps."

Vara bounced up and down with her rifle in hand, making Brian move away from her with a worried expression on his face.

"Are we all ready to go, guys? 'Cause I am!"

Thauk started up his weapon as well, verifying the settings on the panel.

"I am prepared."

Brian rejoined them, clicking his gun into the 'on' position.

"Let's do this."

Four Fifty-one shouldered her sniper rifle and took a look at her odd team: An Andorian, a Human, a Vulcan, and a Liberated. They looked like a poster for the Federation.

"It is time to win a Championship."

Vara threw her fist into the air.

"Yeah! Go Vipers!"

She paused for a moment, with her hand still up.

"We're the Vipers, right?"

Everyone stopped to look at her.

"Kidding!"

Three blasts flew over her head as she ducked inside the shack. Four Fifty-one didn't slow, meeting the door on the other side with her shoulder, throwing her into the road she'd just come from.

She pivoted on one foot as she dove to the ground, putting one of the opposing team members into her sights and pulling the trigger. The bolt leaped from her sniper rifle, curving slightly on its way to the target.

It connected in their back, giving a slight sizzle as it dissipated.

The computer boomed overhead.

"Sehlats – Talara – Deceased"

Now it was one-on-one, with only her and the one remaining member of the Sehlats. She'd caught a glimpse of him earlier, but he'd been moving too fast and going in the opposite direction of her, chasing Thauk. He was apparently successful in his hunt, leaving her as the sole survivor of the Vipers.

Four Fifty-one pushed herself off the ground, moving to a crouched position as she scanned the area for any sign of him. Seeing nothing, she slowly stood and reached up to touch the edge of the roof.

She was just tall enough to get a handhold on it that felt sturdy enough to take her weight. She took one last look around before jumping up and grabbing onto the edge to pull herself off the ground.

When she made it to the roof, she rolled over onto her stomach and took another quick look around the field.

From here, Four Fifty-one could see farther, but she was still unable to locate her target. Repositioning herself back into a crouch, she made her way across the roof, keeping her back to the screaming people in the stands. It was a good thing she didn't have to worry about making noise.

Whoever he was, his stealthiness was to be commended. Four Fifty-one felt like she was the only one on the field.

She stopped when she spotted him hiding behind a wall and looking in a direction perpendicular to hers. If she could get to the next building over without being spotted, she'd have a perfect shot straight down the center.

Keeping the barrel in his direction, she slid over to the roof of the adjacent building. She extended her leg out, barely covering the half meter or so of space between the two walls, and then rocked her weight to the other side. If she was caught now, there's no way he could miss.

She took her hand off of the weapon and placed it on the top of the other building to steady herself. Retracting her other leg, she quickly moved over to a small outcropping on the side nearest him.

It was a terrible spot if she was attempting to hide. There were no places offering adequate cover and no where to run. But she wasn't trying to hide. If she missed, then her lack of protection would be the least of her worries.

Four Fifty-one steadied the rifle, brought the reticle in her Imager to the man's chest, and froze.

It was Sean.

She moved the reticle to his head.

Stopping her heart and holding her breath, she prepared to let the volley loose. The thumping came to a halt, withering with each pump.

After the last whimpering beat of her heart, she tapped the trigger. The shot flew from her rifle, landing square in his right temple.

"Sehlats – Sean – Deceased"

She smiled to herself and restarted her heart implants as the voices sent wave after wave of unintelligible congratulations towards her. They had won.

Four Fifty-one stood and turned to the crowd, letting their praise envelope her like a thousand-person hug. She raised her weapon and they cheered louder.

"Error."

The voices died down as the computer spoke.

"Medical Staff please report to the field."

She turned back to find that Sean was still laying on the ground. Zooming in with her Imager, she could see that there was something black on the side of his head.

Four Fifty-one dropped her gun and bounded off the building, hitting the ground in a dead run. Her feet kicked up piles dirt and flung them away from her as she tore down the alley. She arrived at Sean's position about the same time as a doctor and a nurse.

Kneeling down beside him she could see what was wrong. The right side of his head was missing, and what did remain was black and charred.

The doctor looked at her.

"There's nothing I can do. He's dead."

Four Fifty-one stood shakily, one hand over her mouth. She started to back away, but the nurse held his hand out.

"I think you should stay right there."

She nodded at him, and waited while the crowd started to turn against her, booing when they heard the news.

Four Fifty-one placed her hands against the clear viewing window and looked into the room where the Engineering group was taking apart her rifle. The weapon was laid out in pieces, each labeled and carefully set aside like they were performing an archaeological survey. It had taken nearly two days to find someone who was qualified to perform the investigation of the weapon. Two days that had dragged on into forever.

She was joined in the room by her team: Vara, Thauk, and Brian, along with a smattering of Starfleet officers and various security personnel. It was all she could do to keep from pacing back and forth while she waited for the investigation to complete.

Brian stood by Four Fifty-one, giving her a quick, concealed squeeze to the arm.

"This is tense."

She nodded back.

The speaker overhead had been modified to allow the leader of the group to announce his findings to those gathered. It echoed slightly as his voice was carried around the circular room.

"We're removing the cartridge holder for the battery. There's definitely something connected to it."

He slid the lower part of the stock apart, where the battery would go, and pulled the entire carriage out. Several small dark-green devices were connected to it. Devices that were definitely not standard on a weapon of this type.

"There's wiring of some kind on it, and goes up into the firing mechanism. We're going to have to pull it out and scan it."

The lead Engineer started pulling the electronics out of the gun that were connected by the green moss-like devices. He slid them over to one side of the table where another man in an Engineering uniform waved a tricorder over them.

"Yeah, definitely Borg technology. This gun was reconfigured to allow killing shots. And this-"

He held up a small square piece of equipment with a blue center, and shook it.

"-is a remote transmitter. Someone set up this weapon to kill, but wanted to control when it went off."

He set the device down on the table and looked out to his audience.

"Which means we're not looking at a weapon malfunction. We're looking at a murder. And whoever did it, had access to Borg technology."

Four Fifty-one looked over at Brian. He, along with everyone else in the room, was already looking at her. However, his eyes didn't seem to have the judgmental look of the rest.

"I think we're really in trouble now."

She cocked her head to one side.

"We?"

"Yeah, I had access to Borg tech, your gun and I'm perfectly capable of making those modifications."

A voice came from directly behind them.

"That is correct. You are both the most likely suspects."

It was Thauk, he had his hands behind his back, as calm as only a Vulcan could be in this situation.

Brian crossed his arms and looked back out the window.

"There will be an investigation, possibly a trial."

Thauk nodded.

"It seems unlikely that this will be classified as an accidental occurrence, however, that is for the Inquiry to decide."

"I can't see a scenario where this plays out well for any of us."

"There are few, but they do exist."

A woman in a security uniform walked up beside them, weapon unholstered.

"I've been ordered to place you two under arrest and escort you to a holding area until Commandant Nichols can speak to you."

Four Fifty-one turned towards her, arms to her side. Brian did the same while sighing.

"Yeah, I kind of figured that was coming."

They were led out the door with the security officer behind them. She was giving directions as if they did not know where they were going.

Brian leaned over to Four Fifty-one, whispering.

"Yeah, _we_."

Commandant Nichols made for his chair slowly, taking the time to eye over the two sitting across from his desk. Neither were looking at him, staring at his empty seat as if they were two small children that had been sent to the principle's office. Four Fifty-one was holding herself perfectly still, tensing herself rigid, while Brian fidgeted.

Nichols let out a long breath as he rounded the corner of his desk.

"What a hornet's nest."

He picked up a datapad and started to scroll through it. He took his time, seating himself comfortably in the large chair.

"Let's start with you Cadet Sarenden."

"Yes, sir."

"Academically speaking, you're one of our best students, planning on spending an extra year in the Corp of Engineers. Your behavior is exemplary. High recommendations from your professors. Why would you jeopardize that, Cadet?"

Brian shook his head weakly.

"I wouldn't sir."

"No, I don't think you would either, though the evidence speaks differently."

He cleared his throat before continuing.

"You're well-versed in Borg technology and you've had access to her weapon on multiple occasions, but I'm coming up short on a motive. Why would you do something like that?"

The Commandant took a quick glance at Four Fifty-one, while Brian attempted to respond.

"I-I, uh, can't think of a reason sir."

"Okay, then. I'm letting you return to your normal schedule. However, you may not leave the campus. Understood?"

"Understood."

Nichols pointed to the door.

"Dismissed."

Brian took a long look at Four Fifty-one as he stood, like he had something to say to her, but couldn't get it out. He turned silently, and headed out into the hall.

When the door had closed, Nichols turned to Four Fifty-one, placing his pad on his desk.

"Quite a mess you're in."

"Yes, sir."

"I don't need to go over your academic record. It's as spotless as Cadet Sarenden's, and we both know that you're innocent."

"Sir?"

The Commandant leaned forward on the table, folding his hands. His face became more grim.

"Despite your recent popularity, the Liberated are still regarded with a significant amount of distrust. Many consider you guilty already, but I know that you're about as capable of killing someone as I am."

Four Fifty-one was intrigued.

"How do you know this?"

"Ever since our last talk I've been keeping an eye on you. I've seen how you dealt with some certain individuals that were causing you problems. You used your brains, not your fists, even when it would have been easier. I'm perfectly convinced that you're not a killer."

"You did not intervene?"

He let out a short huff, resembling a stifled laugh.

"Cadet Four Fifty-one, this is Starfleet Academy, not High School. If the worst thing you encounter in this universe is a bunch of bullies, then I wish you well on your pleasure cruise."

He continued, tapping his hands on the desk.

"I'm releasing you to return to your room and classes. I will be assigning some guards to you, though I feel they're more for your protection than anyone else's."

"Thank you, sir."

"Don't thank me yet. When you return to your room, you will find that it has been searched. You will receive a list of things that were taken, if anything."

"Understood."

Nichols stood, motioning for her to do the same.

"The inquiry starts tomorrow evening at fourteen-hundred hours. Dismissed."

Four Fifty-one nodded and turned away from the Commandant's desk. As she headed to the exit, he called out after her.

"I think it goes without saying, but don't leave the Academy."

She paused for a moment, looking over her shoulder.

"I won't."

"I know."

Vara rushed in, dropping her datapad onto the desk and then continuing to the table set up in the middle of the room. As she joined the others, they briefly acknowledged her existence with a nod or wave. She felt that she owed them some explanation.

"Sorry, my class ran a little late. Got back as fast as I could."

Thauk turned to her.

"We have not yet begun."

"Good. So, what are we going to do?"

Brian shrugged.

"Don't know what there is to do. Obviously, someone is trying to frame Four Fifty-one."

The Vulcan shook his head.

"No. That is not obvious. It is still possible that she modified the weapon to make it appear as though someone was attempting to frame her."

"She wouldn't have done that."

"We don't know that."

"_Yes_, we do."

Vara rapped the table with her fists, trying to break up the two before they started arguing again.

"Stop. I don't think Four Fifty-one is guilty either, but she's the prime suspect. She had access, knowledge and motivation. Everybody knows that her and Sean had history."

Thauk leaned back, with his hand on his chin, eying Four Fifty-one.

"That is true. She does have the clearest motivation."

"Of course the same argument could be used for Brian."

One of the Vulcan's eyebrows went up.

"It could?"

Brian opened and closed his mouth several times before actually saying anything. He took quick glances to Four Fifty-one for some help, which she did not give. She seemed to be deep in thought, unaware of the conversation.

"Yeah. She and I have been, uh, seeing each other, so-to-speak, for about a week. Nothing serious, but that might cause problems if revealed."

Thauk looked visibly surprised.

"Oh? That changes the nature of your motivation quite a bit. Make the weapon look like it malfunctioned or was sabotaged to get rid of someone who had hurt her."

"It's not like that. We weren't rivals. Even if we were, I wouldn't have made her kill him. That'd be stupid."

"Stranger things have been done. But, I agree. I don't find your cognitive functions so impaired that you would implicate the person you were protecting."

"Thanks, I think."

Vara swirled her finger at Thauk and furrowed her brow.

"You, Mr. Vulcan, don't like the Liberated being in the Academy either. You said so yourself. You could be framing her to get her kicked out."

He nodded.

"That is accurate. I believe that discussion will return to cause me many problems in the Inquiry. This does place a certain amount of suspicion on me. I had access to the weapons, motivation and I am capable of performing these modifications."

"You're not trained to work with Borg technology. Isn't your focus Engagement Analysis or something like that?"

"That is also accurate. However, I said I am capable of making these modifications, not that I am trained. I am quite familiar with Starfleet weapon technology."

Brian huffed and hit the table with his fist.

"So, all of us then. We all had at least one reason to do this."

"Except me."

Vara smiled, but quickly dropped it.

"I mean, I have no experience with Borg technology, I was never alone with the weapons and I have no reason to hurt Four Fifty-one."

Thauk pulled a pad off his lap and placed it on the table. He scrolled through it for a bit.

"Correct. We will all be on the stand at the Inquiry tomorrow, and each of us are listed as material witnesses, excluding Cadet sh'Sakahar. Vara is listed simply as a 'witness.' This most likely means that-"

"The battery."

Everyone at the table turned to look at Four Fifty-one. She had leaned forward, placing her hands flat on top of one another and looking at Brian intently.

He slowly shook his head back at her.

"What about the battery?"

She lifted one hand and pointed at him.

"A few matches ago, before we were in the finals, I took the battery out of my gun and it felt heavy. I thought that maybe I was just tired. Since then, the battery has weighed about the same. Perhaps it had been modified as well."

"The battery wasn't examined with the rifle. It was taken out. We need to look at it."

"We cannot. It's being kept in the Engineering Lab under guard, and we're all suspects."

Vara held her hands out, palms up, like she was a magician completing a magic trick.

"Um, what about me? I can help! I'm not under investigation at all."

Thauk looked to Brian, giving a small affirmative nod.

"She is most suited for this situation. I remind you that the proper course of action is to request that it be examined."

Brian waved away the Vulcan's argument.

"It took them nearly two days to find someone to work on that weapon. We don't have that kind of time. The Inquiry will be over by then."

"Very well."

Thauk turned back to Vara.

"You must examine the rifle's battery and determine if it has been tampered with."

Vara smiled, starting to bounce in her chair excitedly before she forced herself to stop. She made a slight "Ahem" sound as she calmed.

"Yes, I can do that."

"We must also consider that the killer is not one of us."

Four Fifty-one looked at him.

"I had thought of this as well. Anyone who had access to the Engineering Lab and the weapons might also be suspect."

Brain sighed in frustration.

"That could be any one of hundreds of people."

"Never the less, we must entertain the possibility. My potential enemies are not limited to those who are sitting at this table."

"I can get a copy of everyone who had access to the weapons."

Vara raised her hand slightly.

"And I can get the manifest of those who have access to Brian's work in the Engineering Labs while I'm there."

Thauk stood, taking his pad with him.

"Then we have our next course of action."


	18. Chapter 18: Revelation

451

Devorah Quinn

_The arc of the moral universe is long, but it bends towards justice._

_-Martin Luther King Jr._

_**-18-**_

_Revelation_

Four Fifty-one took the chair across from the older man, Matthews, who was hunched over several pads spread across the small table. The counselor had somehow managed to make the makeshift desk look just like the one in his office.

The crowds could still be heard as they gathered to watch the spectacle. Only about thirty or so were allowed in, mostly faculty staff, but scores stood outside interrogating anyone who came out.

He checked the time on one of his pads and looked to her, tilting it towards her as if she could see the clock.

"Ah finally, Four Five One, the last of the group. We only have a few minutes, so I'll be brief. I'm sure you're familiar with how this type of proceeding is supposed to operate, but we're required to go over it with you."

Matthews set down the pad in his hand and picked up a different one, looking to her for a response. He continued after Four Fifty-one nodded affirmatively.

"The purpose of this Inquiry is to determine if there is a cause for a criminal investigation, criminal trial, or other proceedings in regards to the death of Second Year Cadet Sean Brady. This is not a trial. Are you in agreement?"

"Yes."

"Good. Now to the specifics."

He focused on the device in his hand.

"There will be three command-level officers running the Inquiry. These three are: Commandant Nichols, Captain Quinn and Admiral Justav. There will also be an Arbiter, myself-"

Matthews pointed to his chest with his free hand.

"-to make sure that the rules are met. You will refer to me as Arbiter. There will be other faculty and staff there, but you are not to answer questions or respond to them in any way. Are you in agreement?"

"Yes."

"Alright, now to your rights. You are not required to answer any questions, even if ordered. You are to speak freely about others, if you so desire, without fear of reprisal. You are required, under threat of perjury, to tell the truth as you see it, if you do choose to answer."

He took a quick breath and licked his lips.

"You are required to follow the instructions of the Arbiter above that of the command-level officers in the room. You may not speak unless spoken to. Are you in agreement?"

"Yes."

"Do you have any questions?"

Four Fifty-one resisted the urge to just say "Yes" yet again and started in on her question.

"How long will we be in the Inquiry?"

He spun the pad in his hand several times.

"Oh, usually these Inquiries take a couple of days. Maybe a session or two on each one. It's really up to those who are running it. They can choose to make it as long or short as they like; it's over once they're satisfied."

Matthews pointed at her with the pad.

"You can request a recess if you're feeling too burnt. These things can get pretty grueling. Anything else?"

"No."

He nodded, laying the pad on the table and sliding it towards her.

"Just sign at the bottom that we went through all that stuff and we can get started. I'm sure you're wanting to get this over with."

Four Fifty-one took the pen out of the side, signed it and put it back in.

"Yes, I am."

Matthews reached over and picked up the pad while standing. He shook her hand as she stood as well.

"I've already told you this once, but perhaps it'll actually work this time: Good luck, Four Five One."

She almost believed him when he said it.

"Thank you."

The three tables were set up at an equal distance from each other, forming a triangle, with the groups divided as though they were going to war. The table nearest the spectators contained three command-level officers, Nichols, Quinn and Justav. The surface was buried in pads of various sizes and shapes, no doubt containing every single drop of information that could be wrung out of anyone and anything even remotely connected to the investigation. On the edge, farthest from them, sat a collection of tagged evidence that barely resembled the devices they originally came from.

The table to their right had just the Arbiter sitting at it, with his small collection of datapads as well. He was leaning forward with one elbow on the edge of the table, as if he were expecting the officers to rush the table of Cadets.

Their table was the third one, farthest from the audience, and held the entire Vipers team: Vara sh'Sakahar, Thauk, Brian Sarenden and Four Fifty-one. Brian was rolling his hands over one another as he attempted to answer the Admiral's question.

"Yes, we all have access to the guns at some point before a match, excluding Vara, as well as a whole host of other people."

"So, you, Thauk and Four Fifty-one?"

"Yes."

The Admiral Justav picked up his pad and looked at it.

"What is your specialty Cadet Sarenden?"

"Borg implant technology."

"And you were working on an experiment of some kind?"

"A final project for my Corps of Engineer's admission."

Captain Quinn stood, picking up a device on the table and approaching Brian. He placed what appeared to be the stock of a gun on the table in front of him. With his finger, he indicated the remote device implanted in the circuitry.

"What is this?"

Brian leaned forward to give it a look.

"That is a remote activator, connected to several Borg pieces of equipment."

"Do you recognize the activator?"

"Yes."

"Where from?"

"Its the same make as the one used in my final project."

Quinn picked up the device and walked it back to the edge of the table where he had taken it from.

"Who could have installed this?"

"Several people. Anyone who had access to the Engineering Labs and knew where to look, assuming that the person installing it had some kind of Engineering training."

"Who at your table could do this?"

"Four Fifty-one and I could."

Thauk motioned to the Arbiter, who nodded back in return.

"That is inaccurate. I am capable of installing this device."

Brian fought to stifle an exasperated sigh.

Quinn rubbed his chin, thoughtfully.

"Cadet sh'Sakahar, are you familiar with Sarenden's project?"

Vara nodded quickly, like she was excited that someone was finally asking her something.

"Yes, a little. I mean, I don't know if I could do _that_, but I could try."

Commandant Nichols broke his silence, addressing the Vulcan.

"Cadet Thauk, you said you are capable of installing this device?"

"Yes."

"And you had access to the weapons?"

"Yes. One of my functions in the Firefights is to maintain the weaponry used by my teammates. I had considerable time with the rifle in question."

Nichols shifted his weight to one side, scrolling down on the pad in his hand, reading to himself.

"I have a testimony by a Cadet saying that you do not approve of an 'open door' policy to the Liberated in Starfleet Academy. Would you say that was an accurate assessment of your stance?"

"Yes."

"If Four Fifty-one was convicted of murder then Starfleet might reconsider this policy, which has been under fire in the past. Would you say that is correct?"

"It is possible."

The Commandant laid down the pad and folded his fingers together in front of his face. He kept his eyes on Thauk.

"Then murdering Cadet Brady, and pinning it on a Liberated might be a good way of achieving that goal."

"That is not my goal. Even if it were, as a Vulcan, I cannot kill others."

"We've seen Vulcans kill before, Cadet, I don't think it's too much of a stretch to say you could as well. Especially once we consider the calculated nature of the crime."

The Vulcan did not speak, opting to simply nod in the affirmative.

There was a long silence before Arbiter Matthews spoke up. He stood, using the table to steady his ascent.

"I'm calling a recess. We'll reconvene tomorrow at fourteen-hundred hours."

The crowd rose to a murmur as they began to make their way to the door. Four Fifty-one stayed seated, staring at the stock sitting at the edge of the table.

She turned to look at Thauk, who met her gaze. Vulcans were supposed to be devoid of emotion, but she could see he didn't like the progression of this questioning any more than she did. The officers were convinced that someone at the Cadet's table murdered Sean, a fact that she was not so sure was true.

Vara stepped into the Engineering lab, pad in hand, and looked around the room. There was a single member of the security team here, beside the evidence locker. Otherwise the room was empty. He crossed his arms when she entered, trying not to look as bored as he was.

She selected a workbench closest to an open wall terminal and began to pull equipment from the shelf situated above it. The eyes of the guard followed her every move as she set up her work area.

Turning back towards the evidence locker, Vara made her way to the guard. She stopped in front of him and pointed to the clear set of drawers on the wall behind him.

"I need the battery to the sniper rifle being held in evidence."

He shook his head.

"Sorry, can't. That's evidence."

"Not the battery."

The man turned to look. The battery was in a drawer just to the left of the locker marked "Evidence."

"And what do you need this for?"

"I'm doing a comparative analysis of discharged arrays in hand-held phaser weapons systems and the long term effects on energy compression systems. We don't get to examine many weapons that have actually been used. Academy rules state that no live weapons are allowed on the premises."

Vara fought to look and sound like she hadn't completely made that up.

The guard nodded.

"Oh, alright then."

The guard pulled the battery out of the drawer and handed it to her. He didn't let her pull it from his grip until he'd finished talking.

"Make sure you keep where I can see you, Cadet."

Vara smiled as sweetly as she could manage and headed back to the table.

"Sure thing."

She laid the battery on the table and looked it over. It did feel a little heavier than it should, but what was adding the extra weight was not immediately apparent. The device seemed to be normal and intact.

Vara flipped the battery on its side and scanned it with one of the tools she had laid out earlier. The battery had definitely been tampered with. It was not sealed properly, like it had been disassembled and then put back together.

The door swished open and another security officer walked in, taking a quick glance at her before turning to the first guard.

"My turn."

The one beside the evidence locker sighed in relief as he gathered a few things from where he'd stowed them on top of the drawers.

"Finally. This standing around in an empty room is driving me insane."

"Yeah, well at least we're only on four-hour shifts. It could be worse."

"That's true. I guess I'll see you later then."

The former guard headed out the door, giving a slight wave to the other, who was taking his place in front of the evidence locker. He returned the wave, but well after the door had shut.

Vara returned to her work, pressing up on one side of the battery and down on the other. It snapped apart, separating it into two equal pieces.

She gasped, but quickly subdued it. This changed everything.

In the center was a dark round device, connected to several other smaller blinking spheres. It didn't take a weapons expert to figure out what that was.

She transferred the scanned data to her pad and took a quick picture of the battery before snapping it back together. Now, to the second part of her mission.

Walking to the nearest wall console, she slid her pad into the socket on the outside and started to venture through the series of menus on the screen. The Engineering access list was encrypted, but not very well.

Vara took quick glances over her shoulder at the guard while she worked. He seemed less than interested in her activities, concentrating on a some device in his hands.

After copying the data over she pulled the pad out and returned to her table, picking up the tools and placing them back on the shelf.

With the pad firmly tucked under her arm, she stepped up to the security officer, holding the battery out in front of her.

"Here, this goes in evidence."

"How'd you get that?"

Vara shrugged.

"They said I could look at just the battery."

The guard turned around, opened the locker and placed the device with the rest of the evidence.

"So what did you find?"

"I found out about an attempted murder."

The officer turned back and refolded his arms.

"Attempted? I thought one of the Cadets was killed."

Vara made her way out of the room as she answered his implied question.

"Yes. Cadet Brady was killed, though he wasn't the intended target."

Brian slid down the wall, keeping one eye on the door to the booth and clutching the datapad to his chest. Maintenance would be leaving here in a bit, letting him have the whole place to himself.

A female in a gray suit came out, holding several tools in one hand while she keyed in the code on the door. Brian stood behind a column that hid him from her sight as she passed. When he was comfortable with their distance from him, he took off down the elevated walkway to the entrance.

The door was locked, but it was nothing that he couldn't break. After a few seconds of clever hacking, the door swished open and he moved inside.

Though he was sure that there would be no one coming for several hours, he tried to work quickly. The faster he was out of here the better. It would be easy enough to explain later, but he could not be stopped until he'd gotten a list of the Cadets that had access to the Firefight weapons.

The data was lightly encrypted and easily decoded. It looked like it had been copied prior to his arrival.

This wasn't surprising. The investigative team had probably already compared the two lists themselves. Hopefully, with this information and Vara's examination of the battery, they could figure out something the others could not. It was a long shot, but they had to do something.

When the 'Completed' message came on the screen Brian ripped the pad from the console and took off out the door. He made sure that it was re-locked, before heading down the platform to the stairs.

Just prior to stepping into the main building he steadied himself, forcing his demeanor to resemble something more calm. Shakily, he opened the door and proceeded into the hall, his stride artificially nonchalant.

It was just before noon, so there were many Cadets in the corridors. He relaxed a bit, blending into the crowd.

He found Vara leaned up against the wall, reading her pad. She gave him a quick upward tilt of the head as he approached.

"So, you got it?"

"Yeah, you?"

"Yep. Never gonna believe what I found."

She handed the pad to him as they weaved down the steadily-filling halls.

The entire screen was one image, a picture of an open battery with a device in the center. It didn't take him long to figure out what it was.

"Well, this explains a lot. In fact, it tells us exactly who it _can't_ be."

"That's what I thought, but it doesn't narrow it down too much further."

Brian handed the pad back to Vara as they rounded the corner to her quarters.

"True. But it may be enough. If we compare these two lists and then find out who had the desire and capability to make that kind of a modification, then we have our killer."

Vara punched in her code and headed inside.

"This does kind of incriminate me. Technically, a second-year Engineer could do that."

"No offense, Vara, but I don't think that you could perform that kind of operation. A third year, maybe, with some serious ardor for completing the project."

She nodded, taking Brian's pad and using her workstation to compare the lists.

"So, I'll create a query that finds people who appear on both lists, and then take off everyone who isn't a third-year or later Engineering Cadet."

They both stared at the computer as it indexed the lists and then performed the requested filtering. The screen flashed off and then back on, giving them a short list of names.

Brian groaned.

"Thirty-eight. We've got to try to find motives for thirty-eight different people."

Vara shrugged, selecting half the list and moving them to Brian's pad.

"No time like the present."

He grabbed it, moved to Four Fifty-one's desk and began the time-consuming task of looking at personnel files. It was going to be a long night, and they still weren't going to finish before the next round of questioning.

"And you saw Cadet Sarenden get the weapon and place it on the stand? Did you see anyone tamper with it before or afterwards?"

Admiral Justav was hitting her hard, andVara had looked tired before they started.

"I don't think so. Brian put it on the stand, and then we talked about Four Fifty-one being late. When she showed up she took the rifle and had it the whole time."

There wasn't a missed beat between the end of Vara's last sentence and the start of the Admiral's next question.

"How would you describe Four Fifty-one's relationship to Cadet Sarenden?"

"W-well, they were..."

Vara looked worriedly at Brian and then back to the Captain. He coaxed her forward with his hand.

"They were what?"

"I think they were together."

An audible gasp rippled through the crowd.

Quinn rose his voice to compete with those behind him, forcing the audience to return to silence.

"What makes you think that?"

"I, uh, I caught them together in a storage room, you know, with each other."

The Captain nodded before he started in on his summary.

"So, Four Fifty-one dates Cadet Brady, who leaves her. Then, she starts dating Cadet Sarenden. That creates animosity between them. Brian uses his knowledge and access to rig Four Fifty-one's gun to take out Brady when he triggers it remotely."

"No, it's not like that."

"Why not? He had a method, a means, and a motive."

"Brian wouldn't kill someone."

The Captain grimaced and turned his focus to a pad he had just picked up.

"We would think not."

Nichols did a quick nod to Quinn and started in on his own line of questioning.

"Cadet Thauk, you had access to that weapon prior to Cadet Sarenden, is that accurate?"

"Yes."

"For how long?"

"I precede each match by a few hours to begin setting up equipment and preparing the field."

The Commandant rubbed his chin and leaned forward on the table, like he was reading something off of one of the devices laying there.

"Alone?"

"Yes. In this particular match I was the only one who was qualified to do pre-competition maintenance on the computer. I have attempted to teach other members of this team to assist me, but I have been unsuccessful."

"So, you want to get rid of the Liberated on campus. Using the Borg technology to incriminate her further, you set the gun up to fire a full-power phaser blast to someone she may have wanted dead. Then, you remotely trigger the killing blow while you're off the field."

The Vulcan closed his eyes, did a single nod and reopened them.

"That is an inaccurate telling of events. However, with the information available to you, it is a logical conclusion."

As if in turn, the Admiral spoke next, directly to Four Fifty-one.

"And lastly, to you, Cadet Four Fifty-one. You had the most time alone with the equipment, and your familiarity with Borg technology is without question. You created the firing mechanism as a decoy to throw the investigation off."

Four Fifty-one rubbed her fingers together in her folded hands.

"I must say, as well, that the telling is inaccurate, but it is a possibility you could reach with the available data."

The three Officers looked at each other, all appearing to be as confused as the four Cadets at the table. After a brief pause, the Arbiter stood and addressed them.

"I believe a recess is in order. We will reconvene when a final determination and criminal charges, if applicable, will be filed. You will be called for the reading. Dismissed."

Vara and Brian stood abruptly and took off out the door. Four Fifty-one turned to Thauk.

"They left in a hurry."

He raised his eyebrows and leaned towards her.

"Yes. They have been working on something together related to this investigation. They will not tell me any more."

"I had gathered as much as well. They were up all last night in our quarters, reading."

The Vulcan stood slowly, readjusting his uniform.

"Let us hope they finish quickly."

A soundtrack of voices from the crowd made the room louder than it appeared it should be. The Officers were sitting silently, going over their datapads while three of the four Cadets looked on. Brain sat down next to Four Fifty-one, his tired, red eyes making slow jumps around the table before resting on hers. He gave a brief, if weary, smile.

"Vara thinks she's got something."

"What is it?"

He gave a weak wave with one hand.

"Don't know. She told me to head back while she finished up."

As if waiting for the cue, Vara came into the room, stopping at the table next to Commandant Nichols. She leaned down, showing him something on a pad she was carrying.

Nichols took immediate notice, his face going to stone while Vara talked. The commotion of the Academy officers and staff behind them drowned her already hushed speech.

The Commandant made a quick turn to an officer on a bench nearest them, whispering something in his ear. The Lieutenant nodded and sped out the door.

Vara continued to talk with Nichols about whatever was on the pad for several minutes, her hands giving a plethora of wild gestures. He eventually took the pad from her, continuing to look at it while she took her place next to Thauk.

As she passed Four Fifty-one, she patted her on the shoulder.

The Arbiter stood, the audience softening to a low rumble before going silent altogether. He turned to the table with the officers.

"I understand that you have reached a decision."

Admiral Justav spoke up.

"We have."

Nichols rubbed his chin, waiting for a beat before interjecting.

"No, we haven't."

The door opened, and the Lieutenant walked in, with a male Andorian in an Engineering Cadet's uniform following behind. The officer pointed to the empty seat next to Brian, while returning to his place on the bench. The Andorian nodded and made his way to the table.

Nichols stood as he passed, addressing the Arbiter.

"I would like to invite Vjah th'Ezra to the Inquiry."

The Arbiter nodded as Vjah sat, picking up a pad and taking it to the newest member of the panel of Cadets. He had the Andorian sign a couple of documents before nodding to the Commandant to continue.

Four Fifty-one, Brian and Thauk all looked at Vara. She had a smug self-satisfied smile on her face. Pointing to Vjah, she mouthed the words 'watch this.'

Nichols stood and made his way around the table, standing by the disassembled phaser rifle.

"Please state your name and rank for us please."

Vjah swallowed hard before responding.

"I am Vjah th'Ezra of the Ezra clan. I am a third-year Engineering Cadet."

"What is your job during the firefights?"

"I assist Cadet Thauk and Cadet Sarenden with maintaining the weapons."

The Commandant leaned against the evidence table.

"How long does it take you to work on a weapon?"

"It can take several hours to do proper maintenance."

"And you are alone for most of this time?"

"Usually, yes."

Nichols took a look at the pad in his hand.

"You weren't at the game on the day in question."

"No. I was not feeling well."

"You didn't see any of the firefight?"

Vjah readjusted his shirt, fidgeting with his collar.  
"I managed to make the end of the match."

"You were there when Cadet Brady was killed?"

"Yes."

The Commandant hummed in the affirmative to himself.

"So, aside from being only a year away from graduating as a full-fledged Starfleet Engineer, you have quite a bit of experience with Starfleet weaponry."  
"Yes, I do."

Nichols turned to Four Fifty-one, but did not step away from his position.

"Cadet Four Fifty-one. Did you ever notice anything odd about your rifle? Something that has not been mentioned to the Inquiry previously?"

"Yes. A few matches before the incident, I noticed that the battery felt a bit heavy."

"And you didn't feel that this was worth mentioning in your original statement?"

"I believed at the time that I was just tired, so it felt heavier."

Nichols pushed himself up, grabbing the battery and stock of the rifle as he left. He slowly made his way to the table, still asking questions as he went.

"The Ezra clan has a long history with the Federation. You've lost a clan member in every single major Federation conflict. Is that right?"

Vjah nodded.

"Yes."

"In fact, you've lost close kin. One of your fathers and one of your mothers. Is that true?"

"That is true. They died admirably in battle."

"Who killed them?"

Vjah looked shiftily around the room, his hands tapping away on his leg under the table. He took a moment to respond.

"They were killed by the Borg."

There was an audible rise in the murmuring from the spectators. It had just become clear why Vjah th'Ezra had been called to the Inquiry.

Nichols placed the battery on the table in front of Brian, pursing his lips in a concerned manner.

"I'm sorry for your loss. There must be a lot of sadness and anger there."

The Andorian did not respond, opting instead to cross his arms defiantly.

The Commandant looked at the disassembled weapon in his hand, holding it like he was going to shoot someone.

"Cadet sh'Sakahar, Vjah th'Ezra has expressed dissatisfaction with your choice in companions, has he not?"

"Yeah. He approached us once while we were eating and accused my clan of allying with the Borg."

"Because Four Fifty-one was at the table?"

"That was my impression, yes."

Commandant Nichols placed the stock of the weapon on the table and slid the battery towards Brian.

"Cadet Sarenden, could you open that for me?"

He shook his head while examining the device.

"I can't. Need a tool to break the seals."

"Try anyway."

Brian shrugged and slid the two sides in opposite directions, splitting the battery into two halves. He set them on the table, with the interior facing up.

Nichols leaned on the table, looking down into the exposed core. After a second he straightened himself and took a step back.

"Cadet, can you tell me if there's anything wrong with that battery?"

Brian looked up at the Commandant.

"Yeah, it's been tampered with. A detonator has been installed in it."

"As a third-year Engineering Cadet, what would you say that was for?"

Brian pointed to the circuitry connected to the trigger in the stock, following it down to the cartridge-insert for the battery.

"Well, it's obvious that the gun was modified. A malicious individual could remotely arm the gun to explode when the sniper pressed the trigger."

"So, if I'm understanding you correctly, someone could arm the gun from a distance. The next time that the person holding the rifle pressed the trigger it was supposed to explode. Is that correct?"

"Yes. It wouldn't just explode, though. With all the power stored in that battery, it'd simply vaporize the weapon and whoever was holding it."

Nichols snapped his hand out, pointing directly at Four Fifty-one.

"Cadet Four Fifty-one couldn't have done the modification, since it most likely would have killed her when it activated."

"If it had been wired correctly, sure."

"There's something wrong with it?"

Brian held his hand out over the open battery.

"Well, whoever did this knew a lot about Starfleet weaponry and engineering, as well as how to wire it to explode. However, they knew nothing about my remote triggering system. The micro-relays between the Federation technology and the Borg technology are not set up properly. It's an easy mistake to make if you don't know that much about Borg nano-tech."

"So what happened?"

"Well..."

Brian snapped the battery back together and slid it into its carriage in the stock. He pointed to the different pieces of equipment as he mentioned them.

"...I suppose that the remote was meant to arm when it received the signal. Then, when the trigger is pressed, the battery creates a feedback. Within milliseconds, the battery overcharges and explodes, vaporizing everything within a few meters. But..."

He spun the stock around and looked it over, talking down into it as he mentally re-checked his work.

"...since the relays failed, the battery can only discharge one way. It's a safety system to make sure this kind of thing doesn't happen. It forced the power in the only direction it could: into the firing mechanism. That's probably why Cadet Brady wasn't vaporized, as you'd expect with an actual phaser-blast set to kill. He was just the recipient of a directed energy discharge."

"Thank you."

The Commandant picked up the stock, with the battery still in it, and walked it back to the evidence table. He set it down and turned back around to the Arbiter. He had to bring his voice up to compete with the excited audience behind him.

"I believe I'm satisfied."

When Arbiter Matthews took his seat, the tiny squeak of his chair acted like a gavel, deepening the void in the already quiet room. He paused for a moment, as though he had forgotten what he was there to say. This seemed only to squelch the volume of the room further, the silence itself waiting for a resolution.

Everyone knew where this was going. The evidence, when put on display, was damning as it could be. Now, there was only the wait for the inevitable. It was written all over Cadet th'Ezra's face.

The Arbiter's voice was almost a shock when he began to speak. It possessed more weight than it had previously, commanding the attention of everyone in earshot.

"Let's try this again. In our brief intermission, you had some more time to deliberate. Do we have a decision?"

Everyone at the Officer's table looked at the Commandant. He flicked his hand outward from his face and promptly returned it.

"I have nothing to add."

Admiral Justav stood, readjusting his shirt. He read from a pad in his hand.

"We find that a criminal trial is in order."

The Arbiter nodded, making a note.

"Continue."

"One: Knowing destruction of Starfleet property. Two: Unauthorized modification of Starfleet technology. Three: Murder in the First Degree of Cadet Sean Brady."

"Noted. And who do you levy these charges against?"

"Cadet Vjah th'Ezra."

The room erupted with clapping, but was quickly silenced by Matthew's hand in the air. He turned to face the Andorian.

"Cadet Vjah th'Ezra, you are charged with the previous. You are to be placed under arrest until a time when you can enter your plea. Do you understand?"

Two security guards had moved around behind him, gripping him under the arms. He glared at Four Fifty-one as he was helped to his feet.

"I understand."

The Arbiter turned back to the Cadets to find Vara snapping her tongue back into her mouth.

"The rest of you are free to return to your normal duties."

The room got loud again as the people started to filter out, including the officers and the Arbiter. The Cadets stood more slowly, taking long looks at each other as they collected together into a group.

Brian was the first to speak.

"Well, I guess we did it."

Vara gave Four Fifty-one a hug.

"I knew none of you did it."

She looked at Thauk.

"Well, except you. I think it's the pointy ears. Makes you look devilish."

The Vulcan tilted his head slightly.

"I had guessed you would base a conclusion on aesthetics alone."

Four Fifty-one looked down at the Andorian who was still hugging her tightly.

"I appreciate the work you have done on my behalf."

Vara smiled and let go.

"Ah, it was nothing. And think, if you'd taken flight training then you would have missed all this fun."

"That is true. However..."

Four Fifty-one looked to Brian, who was giving her a knowing glance back. He folded his arms as he finished her sentence.

"...next Semester we should take flight training instead."

Thauk nodded.

"I concur."

Vara looked off to the side, with an eyebrow cocked over one of her tired eyes.

"It would be less stressful."

**Epilogue**

Vara leaned over so she could see them both in the mirror, her usual grin hanging on her face.

"Well, hello Ensign Four Fifty-one."

"Are you going to do that all day?"

The Andorian bounced away, removing her uniform, so she could get into something more comfortable for later.

"Just until I get tired of it. I'm sure I'll be over it about the time I make Lieutenant."

Four Fifty-one examined the one pip on her new uniform. She was quite proud of it, but not nearly as much as Dr. Ti. He had spent nearly the entire evening telling her so, rambling on about how he knew she'd be an officer since the first day she was disconnected. From what Miranda had told her, he'd been doing as much ever since he got the invitation.

The graduation ceremony was a boring affair that she was glad she only had to go through once. A terribly inefficient use of her time, but she went through it for the sake of others. Someone had to keep Vara awake through the speeches.

The door chimed and Vara answered it, closing her top as it whisked open. She held out her arms as if she were greeting a long lost friend.

"Ensign Sarenden!"

"Ensign sh'Sakahar. Is Ensign Four Fifty-one here?"

Vara pointed to her and took a couple steps back.

"She's right over there, admiring her new shiny."

Brian moved in, leaning to look at Four Fifty-one.

"Well, I must say, you look quite good in the new uniform."

Four Fifty-one looked him over.

"You as well."

Vara walked backwards through the door, waving.

"I'm off to help with the decorations. I'll see you two later at the party, right?"

Brian talked back over his shoulder.

"Yeah, I'll probably show up."

Four Fifty-one nodded in agreement.

"Yes, I will be there as well."

"Great! See you guys then!"

When the door slid shut, Brian shifted his weight to one side, placing his arms behind his back.

"So, what did you want to talk about? Not that I don't already have an idea."

Four Fifty-one placed the pip on the table and turned towards him. She kept her eyes away from his, like she was afraid they'd be caught.

"We both will be taking our assignments tomorrow, I thought that we might have a little closure. I did not want to just leave."

Brian shook his head.

"No. No, we can't do that. And I'd be lying if I said that I wanted it to end, but we have very little choice. We knew this was coming."

Four Fifty-one sat on her bed, staring at the floor.

"I do not want it to end either. You have been unnaturally patient with me. I know what is expected in a relationship of this length, and I am sorry for not being able to offer it."

Brian sat beside her, cupping her cheek in his hand. He turned her head towards him.

"You don't owe me anything. I don't want you to do anything you'll regret. I don't want you to regret any of this."

Four Fifty-one nodded weakly.

"I don't. I just know that I am not the most desirable mate, I am neither attractive nor-"

Brian interrupted her with a kiss which he held for a moment before pulling away.

"You are you. That's all I asked for."

Four Fifty-one pushed him back onto the bed, gripping his hair as she latched onto his lips. Brian capitulated for a moment before gently pushing her away.

"Are you sure?"

"I want nothing else."

She returned to him, letting herself be free if only for a little bit. Tomorrow she was leaving for the cold, endless void of space. But, before she rose away from Earth, she had to revel in the finite moment she captured in the warmest place in the universe.

The datapad held all kinds of tactical information, most of if it telling her what she already knew about the ancient ship that was her next assignment. The aging Centaur Class vessel had been in service off and on for over a century, and had just recently undergone its seventh refit. It was tiny, cramped and she would have to share her quarters with two others. However, that was all irrelevant now that she had a ship to serve on.

Four Fifty-one turned the pad off and held it to her side, wanting to enjoy her last walk across Earth. It was her home planet, but it was alien to her still. She loved it more than anything, though there was no way she would be able to stay; Her life lie elsewhere.

It was nearly seven in the evening when she had gotten the announcement that the starship had entered orbit. She had fought to keep herself from running to the transporter pad in the twilight, with the box rattling under her arm.

There was not much to pack, but it had been gathered together hours beforehand. Only a potted plant, a broken red datapad, and a photoplayer made up her scarce belongings. They were priceless artifacts of her journey to this moment. The otherwise useless trinkets reminded her that the failing light and the shadows it cast were not her only companions.

Night was coming on now, and a brisk, cool breeze was moving across the grass, making the still world appear to be moving with her excitement. The leaves had started to fall off the trees, dancing their way down the path, a parade preceding her.

Her mind went back to the USS Labra, staring out the window for hours on end, watching each star make its way across her vision. She had spent her entire life in space, but she realized now that she had never seen any of it.

Four Fifty-one looked to the stars and saw not a mass of twinkling lights, but a destination, each with a glowing fire as a beacon, wishing her forward. Sirens that sang her a song of an infinite number of things that she had yet to see. An infinite number of things she had yet to do. An infinite number of people she had yet to meet.

The answers were up there, hidden in those stars. Though more specific, her questions resembled those of the humans that she was related to. Why was she here? What was she created to do? What was her purpose?

The third question was most easily answered, though it had taken her years to come to terms with it. Her purpose was her own. It was not divinely handed to her, chosen by those around her nor was it thrust onto her by her creator. She was the sole owner of herself. She decided her purpose. It was the single most terrifying and liberating thought that she had ever had: There was no purpose to her life but what she gave it.

Like a child, unable to walk or talk, she had stumbled out of the Collective. She had fallen across space, landed in a lair of her enemies and then risen above the sky. This had not been done under her own willpower alone, but as a united effort with others. Those whom she considered family, friends, and even lovers. She was supported by no one but herself and her new Collective. The voices had been consolidated into one, and she was a slave to no other.

The familiar word lilted to her now, its vocals crisp and clean. It was her own, and it gave the same simple command it always gave. It gave a single piece of advice that she had been unable to decode until recently, but had been following all along:

"Return"

That's exactly what she intended to do. She was coming back, and in force.

**-END-**


End file.
